Rash Decisions
by mossley
Summary: Ch. 5 of 5. After treating a man with a mysterious aliment, Cameron becomes a patient herself, prompting House to reevaluate his actions.
1. Chapter 1

**Rash Decisions   
S****ummary:** Ch. 1 of 5. After treating a man with a mysterious aliment, Cameron becomes a patient herself, prompting House to reevaluate his actions.  
**A/N: **In all fairness, Niff deserved a co-author credit because she was an invaluable help with the medical aspects of the story. Since she refused, I'll have to settle by offering her my thanks. And thanks to Gibby and Ann for their beta services. All mistakes are mine; I don't share.   
**Rating:** Eh, let's go PG-13 for language.   
**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything remotely connected to this show. I haven't even seen all the episodes yet. I hope I have the characterizations right, but let me know if I screwed something up.

* * *

**Chapter 1**

Rounding the corner, Dr. Gregory House hobbled to the door as quickly as his damaged leg allowed. If he could make it to the privacy of an empty exam room, he'd be able to survive another shift of clinic duty without having to be bothered with an actual patient. They always got in his way of treating illnesses, and he had little patience for them. He wasn't fast enough, though, and Dr. Lisa Cuddy stepped in front of him, crossing her arms as she blocked his escape route.

"The patients are that way," she informed him, pointing towards the clinic waiting room.

"Sorry, I already have one."

"Several in fact. All of them are behind you."

"Them? Oh, anyone can see to their runny noses. My dance card is all full," he said dismissively.

"You can't dance."

"Low blow."

Cuddy didn't relent, and she turned to grab some charts from the desk behind her. "It's my hospital; I know diagnostics doesn't have anything."

"And that's my fault?" House complained. "I can't help it if all you get are sniffles and scrapes down here. Is that any reason to punish me?"

"No, it's not your fault, but I like punishing you. It's the best perk of my job," she said with an exaggerated smile.

"You are a naughty girl!"

"Besides, I'm sure you deserve it for something. Go with it. Let it feed your inner martyr. Now those are your patients. You aren't getting out of clinic duty."

"This is a waste of my skills."

"Well, until a mystery epidemic comes in, you're stuck here."

"I like the way you think!" House said, giving her a wide grin. "Let's go up to the lab, mix up a bunch of live cultures together, stick them all in a bottle and spray people with it. The mall's the perfect place. Can't be any worse than the attacks of the perfume ladies. The smell from our concoction certainly would be better than some of those things. Someone's bound to come up with an interesting condition if we did that."

"Exam room one," Cuddy said, handing him a chart.

Grumbling all the way, House opened the door and immediately froze. Inside, a chanting woman covered in crystals, amulets and talismans hopped around the exam table on one foot. She held a bundle of dried leaves in one hand, and she was bringing a lighter towards it.

"What do you think you're doing?" he demanded.

"Purifying the room. I have to drive all the bad energy away," she said, falling as she tried to hop backwards around the table.

House pulled the bottle of Vicodin from his pocket and dry-swallowed two pills.

* * *

Gladly taking the chart from the nurse, Dr. Allison Cameron scanned the file thoroughly as she approached the exam room. Glen Kelleher, age thirty-six, had been brought in after having a seizure before a business meeting. He appeared otherwise healthy, with no fever and no history of neurological disorders – and now he was the diagnostic department's patient.

Or so she hoped.

Working with the legend-in-his-own-mind Gregory House was an incredible learning experience – when the prickly doctor actually bothered to take a case. Lacking a current one, the team descended on the clinic looking for anything interesting. She wasn't sure how he'd react to her taking the initiative with this patient, but Cameron didn't let that deter her.

Despite his blunt dismissal of her during their first date, she remained oddly attracted to him. House was a brilliant diagnostician – but only when it involved the human body. His reading of her interest had been completely wrong, but she wasn't sure that he'd ever give her the chance to prove that to him.

Since that dinner, things had been off-balanced between them. He'd probably object at her interest in this case. The return of his ex-lover had further complicated matters, but one thing was certain: she wasn't going to let him bully her.

Besides, they were bored.

"Mr. Kelleher," she said, entering the room. Discreetly, she began her observation of the gowned man sitting on the bed. The patient appeared slightly shorter than average and lean, having no excessive body fat. What was exposed of his body showed an extremely well-defined musculature, indicating he was physically active. He was calm, and he had no signs of palsy or other muscular jerking. In fact, he appeared in perfect health, but she knew looks were deceiving. "I'm Dr. Cameron. How are you doing?"

"Call me Glen. And I'm fine. Honestly. I don't know why I'm here," he answered with a mildly exasperated air. "Not to be rude, but will this take long? I have to catch a flight tomorrow, and my meetings are already way behind schedule. I really feel okay."

"Don't you lie to that doctor," snapped an older man who had been pacing the room. He stopped and turned towards them. "You ain't been yourself in days. And today. Oh, of all the times to get sick. You scared your investors off."

The patient smiled at Cameron and nodded to his companion. "Joey says I had a seizure, but I don't remember it."

"That's not uncommon. How have you been feeling otherwise?"

"Terrible, that's how he's been."

"I think Joey needs a tranquilizer," Kelleher stage-whispered, drawing a brief smile from the doctor.

"Look at his hands! He was going so bad he punched through the drywall."

That prompted Kelleher to drop his head, scowling as he turned his hands over. The skin over the knuckles was raw, with bits of grayish powder embedded into it. Flexing them carefully, he swallowed uneasily. "Damn. How did that happen?"

"I need to do an examination, run some tests and get a history. I'm afraid you're going to need to cancel your business meetings," Cameron said as she inspected his hands. "That isn't painful? Good. It's unlikely you broke anything."

"I already checked for that," the older man said curtly, his left hand rubbing his right arm nervously. "Worry about why he had that seizure."

"Hey, Joe. Call Mom and Pop. Let them know I might not be able to fly home to see them tomorrow. Don't tell them I'm sick. Mom'll freak. Tell her I'll call her later. Sorry," he said once the other man had left. "Joey's been with me for years. He was my first coach, works for me now. He's overprotective."

"And he said you weren't feeling well," Cameron responded pointedly, continuing her examination. "Tell me what's wrong."

"Yeah. Nothing really bad. Guess it started about a week ago, maybe ten days. I've been tired, feeling kind of rundown. A couple headaches, stomach's been a little upset. I just thought I was getting a bug."

"Fever?"

"If there was one, it wasn't high enough for me to notice."

Cameron pulled back and crossed her arms over her chest. She fixed him with a compassionate but firm look. "And what symptoms will Joey add to that list when I go talk to him?"

"Oh, you're good!" Kelleher said with an appreciative laugh. It was short-lived as he flexed his hands again before running them through his reddish-brown hair. "I can't believe this. I've never been sick. Nothing serious."

"It's all right. It's normal to feel unsettled after a seizure. What else can you add?"

"I guess I've been a little grumpy. Joey's complained that I was barking at him, but I didn't think I was that bad. And I guess my concentration hasn't been the best. I thought it was the stress. There's been so much these last two months. I run a fitness club, and they want to franchise it. I've been flying in for meetings, always on the run. All the finance stuff; it's complicated. The ad people the bank wants to use are insane. Can the stress being doing this, giving me a seizure?"

"That's very unlikely. Have you had any problems with your vision?"

After a moment's shock, he gave his head a shake. "God, yeah. I was thinking I needed to get contacts. Things were getting a little blurry. You must think I'm an idiot."

Cameron jotted down her findings, pausing long enough to give him a kind look before moving to checking his reflexes. "No, I don't. How's your appetite been?"

"Not so good, but we've been on the road a lot. Not really eating right. You know how it is when you're rushing around."

"What about your family history? I need to know if anyone has had any problems with seizures or neurological disorders."

"I don't know. Guess I need to call Mom for that."

"Yes, you do."

"Great," he sighed, leaning back on the exam table. "You think Joey gets underfoot? Wait to you meet Mom. You won't miss her. She'll be the squawking lady attached to your hip."

Cameron's lips curled slightly as she brought up her flashlight to examine his pupils. They contracted normally, but she frowned as she stepped back. A number of small scars covered his face. "How did you get the scars?"

"I used to box," he answered vaguely.

"Used to box, my ass. Sorry, miss," Joey said with obvious pride as he re-entered the room. "You got no reason to be modest. He had a boxing scholarship to Notre Dame, and he graduated with honors. Then he went to the Olympics. Bronze medals in the welterweight class."

"Were you his trainer, Joey?"

"Yep. Been with him since he was in high school."

Cameron finished writing her observations on his chart, taking her time as she composed her next line of questioning. As House was fond of saying, 'Everyone lies', and the two men in front of her had ample reason to do so. She needed their honesty, but she understood that it might be hard to get.

"This is very important. I need you to be honest with me so we can find out what is wrong with you. Did you, or do you now, take any type of steroids, or any other medications while you were training?"

"No!" both men said immediately.

"Doctor, I'm not lying. I didn't use them. I drank some, still do, but no drugs. The Olympics and all the qualifying competitions tested for steroids. Back then, we didn't have those things that don't show up on drug tests. There was no way I'd throw away all my work and other medals taking that chance. And …" Kelleher said, pausing as he waved his hand. After a bashful look, he turned his head away. "Those side effects. Not good."

"You mean the testicular shrinkage and impotence," Cameron said, fighting down a smile as her patient blushed deeply. The sight of such a powerful man reacting like a shy schoolboy was amusing, but she didn't want to add to his embarrassment.

"Yeah. That wasn't something I was willing to risk to win."

"Okay. I'm ordering some blood work and some other tests. I need you to fill out these family histories. Joey, why don't we step outside?"

"She wants you to tell her all the stuff I left out or lied about," Kelleher quipped as they exited the room. Looking up from his paperwork, he winked at Cameron. "She's good. Don't hold back. She'll catch ya."

Smiling, she led the trainer into the waiting area.

* * *

Crossing the room angrily, House snatched the bundle of dried herbs from the woman as she stood up and waved them in front of her face. "This is a hospital. No smoking – whether it's holy smoke or not!"

"I was just trying to help."

"I'm sure you were," he replied sarcastically, sitting down on the stool. "Okay, Miss … Freedom Rainforest? Where's that? And what's your name?"

"That is my name."

"Freedom Rainforest. Were your parents exceptionally cruel?"

"Boring," she said with an eye roll. "Can you believe they named me Amanda Schwartz? I changed it."

"Okay," he drew out with an exaggerated sigh. "Besides masochistic tendencies, what seems to be your problem?"

"Huh?"

"What. Is. Wrong. With. You?"

"I've been poisoned."

"With what? Toxic weeds?" he asked, staring at the bundle he still held. Tossing it into the trashcan, he washed his hands and pulled on a pair of gloves. "What are your symptoms?"

"I told you; it's an environmental poisoning."

"Humor me. I live for this. It gives me goose bumps," House said, bringing his stethoscope to her chest.

"I've been tired, with a fever and a backache."

"And you got poisoning from that? Amazing! Can you narrow it down to what you think it is that's supposedly poisoning you?"

Rainforest frowned at his annoyed tone. "I didn't make that up. My crystals told me."

House's eyebrows climbed up his forehead. Sitting back on his stool, he folded his hands over his belly. Eyeing his cane briefly, he smiled at the woman opposite him. "Have they mentioned anything about needing a sacrifice? I've got this hospital administrator that you'd just _love_ to meet."

The woman shook her head, causing a cacophony of noise as her various pendants clanged together. "They don't talk to me."

"Well, I'm glad to hear that! It's okay when people talk to inanimate objects. Weird – and definitely pathetic – but okay. It's when they talk back that you have problems. Uh, they didn't use Morse code, did they?"

"I'm not crazy. My crystals are my tools. It's no different than your stethoscope," Rainforest insisted calmly.

"Right. Well, my stethoscope went to medical school, and it says you have the flu."

"But that's impossible."

House threw his head back, staring at the ceiling for a moment before looking at her. "I probably don't want to know, but why is it impossible?"

"I don't cook my food."

"I was right. I didn't want to know that. But now that you mentioned it, I want to know what the hell that has to do with the flu."

"I must say you're not much of a doctor. Raw food is the perfect way to eat. Cooking destroys all the nutrients in the food. That's why people get sick. I've read all about it in my magazines."

"See, that's the big drawback with modern, _scientific_, medicine," House said, tossing his hands back dramatically. "We can't make eyeglasses small enough to fit on something microscopic. Not that it really matters. The viruses and bacteria don't have eyes. They can't read your magazines, so they don't know they aren't supposed to make you sick. Dumb things, aren't they?"

"But my poisoning?"

"You weren't poisoned." Standing up, he pulled off his gloves and tossed them away. Heading to the door, he looked at Rainforest over his shoulder. "You have the flu. Go home. Rest. Drink lots of hot – well, in your case, cold – tea."

* * *

Cameron walked into the diagnostics department with a grin. When her colleagues looked at her hopefully, she held up the file in triumph.

"Tell me you found something," Dr. Eric Foreman half-begged.

"Anything at this point," Dr. Chase added.

"You guys will like this one."

She was writing notes on the whiteboard when House entered his office. Seeing his team eagerly gathered together in the next room, he stared at them quizzically. After a beat, he cast a longing look at his TV before joining them.

"And since when do we have a case?"

"Since I went out and found us one," Cameron said smoothly.

"Oh, this is going to be good. What is it? A teddy bear that lost its stuffing? I know! A sad, little kitten needs an emergency whisker-otomy. I'm missing my soap for this."

"No. Unexplained seizure in a thirty-six-year-old man. He has no history of any serious illness, let alone neurological disorders, and there's no family history of them. His CBC showed no infection, and he has no fever. Electrolytes and sugar levels are normal."

"Other symptoms?" Chase asked.

"His heartbeat is slightly irregular. Fatigue, blurred vision, muscle weakness and gastric disturbances. His trainer thinks he's been 'as grumpy as a damn bear with constipation', but Kelleher says that's because he's been under a lot of stress for the past two months."

"Patients aren't always the best judges of their personality. How did he seem when you talked to him?" Foreman asked.

"Polite. Actually, a little on the bashful side. And a flirt," she said with a wicked grin.

That prompted a round of chuckles and some teasing from the two younger doctors, but House merely stared at her. "Trainer?"

"He boxed in college and went on to be in two Olympics. He hasn't been in the ring for years. And both of them swear he never used steroids."

"Right. And a bashful boxer? I thought that was a mythical creature. Maybe you can write a paper on him."

"Kelleher claims the side effects were more than he was willing to risk."

"Oh, now I know he's lying," House said animatedly as he headed to the door. "Either about the Olympics or the steroids. You don't get to that level of competition unless you're willing to risk everything."

"Even sex? I thought you said men were pigs," Cameron shot back.

He stopped and seemed to consider that. With a shrug, he gave her an impatient look. "So?"

"So what?" she asked in confusion.

"Did you verify that? Are his tinkle-berries still berries, or have they become tinkle-raisins?"

"No, I didn't check. Blood tests will show if he's telling the truth about the steroids."

"Why, Dr. Cameron. I'm surprised at you," House said acerbically. "You had a chance to grab a man right by his nads, and you didn't. Total control of the situation, and you blew it. You're slipping."

"And I don't hurt people just for the fun of it."

The pair locked gazes, neither willing to be the first to look away. A tense silence fell over the room, and Foreman cleared his throat loudly. The others all turned to him, and he grinned innocently. "Frog in my throat."

Chase was the first to swing the conversation back to the patient. "Yeah. Well, dementia pugulistica is the obvious thing to consider. He's punch drunk."

Foreman shook his head. "Not likely. If he'd ever fought pro, that'd be my first thought, too. Every professional bout carries a forty percent risk of acute brain injury. Enough fights, and the damage becomes permanent."

"Some sport," Cameron muttered. "What is it with guys?"

"We're pigs, remember?" House grumbled.

"But amateur boxing doesn't have those problems," Foreman continued. "They wear headgear and use lighter gloves. They base scores on hits, not knockouts. A KO in the Olympics usually is an accident. Serious injuries at that level are rare. You're more likely to break your hand than to get brain damage."

"He's right," House said. "According to the CDC, one hundred thousand young adults die every year from sports injuries. Most had a previously undiagnosed underlying condition. And boxing almost never makes the list. It's the pro boxing that'll kill you. Or at least kill your brain."

"So, even if we can rule out brain damage caused by boxing, there could still be trauma from another source," Chase said.

"Seizure caused by brain damage? I never would have thought of that. What else?"

Cameron answered House first. "Drugs."

"Epilepsy," Foreman said.

"Pheochromocytoma," Chase said. "It rarely happens, but it can form in brain tissue."

"Frontal lobe syndrome."

"Yeah, that only covers a million things," Foreman joked, flashing her a grin.

"Infection," she countered, quickly listing the possibilities on the board. "Metabolic disorders."

"Parasites or a stroke," added Chase.

Foreman nodded. "Vascular disorder."

House popped another Vicodin and clapped his hands together. "Oh, very good! You even did that in alphabetical order. You've been forming your very own Ziegfield Follies on the side." Pointing at Cameron, he continued, moving his hands in an hourglass motion. "You need to be wearing one of those hot outfits with the feathered hats. Better yet, just the feathers. Your boxer would really like that."

"Pheochromocytoma isn't spelled with an eff," she responded coolly.

"Blame the Aussie. They can't speak English anyway."

"What? Like you Yanks have any room to talk."

"Who are you going to believe?" House asked, waggling his eyebrows. "Your boss or the guy who likes vegemite? Okay, is there anything else that could be causing this guy's troubles?"

"Creutzfeldt-Jacob. Porphyria"

He gave Cameron a quick eye roll as he picked up the blood results from the file. "So you think he has mad cow disease, or he's a vampire. Or he's a vampire that snacked on a mad cow. Even a bashful boxer is more likely than that."

"So, I take it we're working this case," Foreman said, grinning at the irritated look directed his way. "The possible personality change and blurred vision could indicate a neurological condition."

"Hmm. Nothing abnormal on the initial blood work. Run a full tox screen and urine sample. Let's rule out shrunken tinkle-berry syndrome and drug abuse. Full chems, including liver enzymes and other materials. This could be metabolic. Get an arterial blood gas analysis. Do an EEG and a CT scan as well. Let's see if there's anything inside the Bashful's head," House said doubtfully to Cameron before heading back to his office.

* * *

Walking down the hallway, Foreman shook his head mournfully. "I told him it was a bad idea. I tried to warn him."

"You tried to warn him about what?" Chase asked.

"Taking her on a date. I knew that was a disaster waiting to happen. I knew it. I tried to tell House."

"What are you going on about?"

Foreman gave his friend an incredulous look. "Did you miss that conversation between them back there? Whatever happened on that date, it wasn't good."

"So you think."

"And you don't?"

"How would you know?" Chase asked honestly. "This is House we're talking about. How do you think he'd react if they were together? Do actually think he'd be nice to her, at work, in front of others? He's not going to start sending her teddy bears and flowers."

"No, but this was more than House being himself."

"I don't know. I think he got upset when he heard that a patient was flirting with her."

Foreman nodded emphatically. "Oh, I caught that. And the part about grabbing the guy by the nads. Face it – he's pissed that she blackmailed him into going on a date. This could get nasty."

"Or not," Chase insisted.

"Tell me you don't think having to blackmail a guy into a date is good sign."

"Of course not. I said the very same thing to Cameron. But they're both adults, even if they are both idiots."

"I'm glad we agree on something."

"Hell, for all we know, that could be what passes for foreplay between them. They could be on their way to the roof for a quickie right now."

Foreman screwed his face in disgust. "God, that was one visual I didn't need."

_TBC _


	2. Chapter 2

**Rash Decisions  
Summary:** After treating a man with a mysterious aliment, Cameron becomes a patient herself, prompting House to reevaluate his actions.   
**A/N: **In all fairness, Niff deserved a co-author credit on this story because she was an invaluable help with the medical aspects of the story. Since she refused, I'll have to settle by offering her my thanks. And thanks to Gibby and Ann for their beta services. All mistakes are mine; I don't share.   
**Rating:** Eh, let's go PG-13 for language.   
**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything remotely connected to this show. I haven't even seen all the episodes yet. I hope I have the characterizations right, but let me know if I screwed something up. I'm not a doctor, but I write for fictional ones. Don't trust my medical presentations to be completely accurate.

* * *

**Chapter 2**

"I really do have a patient now," House said as soon as Cuddy bore down on him.

"I know. Congratulations. You're making use of that expensive department of yours. And you're waiting on test results. Now finish your clinic hours for the day."

Giving his head a shake, he limped his way into the exam room. Opening the door, he closed his eyes and groaned loudly. A frantic looking woman stood beside a teenaged boy sitting on the table – with a wooden rod sticking out of his nose.

"It's stuck," he sniffled.

"Yeah, I kinda guessed that's why you left it in there all this time. I'm up on all that's hip, and this isn't," House said as he gloved up. "Do I want to know how you managed to get a drumstick up your nose? Explosion in the music room?"

"My brother and me were trying something."

"Please tell me this 'something' wasn't 'something' you saw on TV."

"The guy on the show could get it all the way through is nose to…"

"I get the picture. Unfortunately. Did it ever occur to you that they call the show 'Jackass' because that's an accurate description of the idiots on the show?"

"Yeah?"

House dropped his shoulders. "Is that all you aspire to be in life? A jackass? Trust me, it's possible to aim higher than the groin. It takes more work, but usually involves less surgery."

"OW!"

"Sorry. Here. Have one of these. I love them," he said, handing the boy a Vicodin.

"Surgery?" the mother asked fretfully.

"Well, unless you want me to wiggle that around and hope I don't pop his eyeball out trying to work it free. It's your call. I don't mind, but those things are so gosh darn hard to get back in again."

"Mom!"

"Don't worry, Henry. It'll be all right. Isn't that right doctor?"

"That's the million dollar question! The sinuses lead directly to the brain. Genius here could have killed himself. If the surgery goes well, and if there's no infection, he should be okay."

"Is there anything we can do?" the mother asked.

"Yeah. Get rid of your TV until the kids are out of the house," he said, pausing dramatically. "I can't believe I just said that. Hell has frozen over, and Cuddy went skiing. Okay, keep the TV, but maybe you should try supervising them a bit more closely."

Grabbing his cane, House limped angrily out of the room.

* * *

Approaching the exam room, Cameron slowed as she observed a crowd surrounding Kelleher. When she saw the sheaths of paper being pushed in his direction and his attempts to brush them away, she resumed her course quickly, walking into their midst with a determined stride. 

"Gentleman, Mr. Kelleher needs his rest. I'm going to have to ask you all to leave."

"It won't take long for us to go over these contracts for…"

"And I think I can have security in here sooner than that." She eyed the crowd unflinchingly until they began packing up their briefcases.

"Thanks," he said once they left the room, closing his eyes and rubbing his head. "They were giving me a real headache."

"How long ago did it start?" she asked, immediately moving to examine him.

"Not long. It's not that bad. Hmm. Guess Joey was wrong. I didn't totally scare them away."

"I don't know a lot about banking, but I'm not sure I'd want to do business with someone who would rush you while you're in the hospital."

Kelleher chuckled softly. "You're probably right. There's some date they're worried about. If the papers get signed before then, things are easier. Or cheaper. Or something."

"Can't you remember?"

"Don't worry. I never really understood it all. I had some accounting classes, but nothing like this. When they first approached me, I thought they wanted to open one or two other locations, but they want to go nationwide immediately."

"It sounds like your business is a success." The line of questioning was more than a polite venture on her part. If he was experiencing confusion or forgetfulness, it could help narrow the possible causes of his condition.

"Never underestimate people's greed or vanity," he said with a shy grin. "Open a fitness center, and say an Olympic boxer designed the workout. Add an ex-Olympic tennis player, swimmer and marathon runner, and offer their programs. People who think they could have been great athletes flock to you."

"None of these people actually will become professionals?"

"Not a chance in hell. But like I said, it's a vanity thing. They're great in their own minds, so they think they deserve something associated with the Olympics. Hey, they have a lot more money than common sense. I have a lot more sense than money. Seems like a fair trade to me."

Cameron returned his smile and noted his headache on his chart. He was obviously tired, but his speech was clear, and he could answer her questions coherently. While that was a good sign, it did nothing to help with the diagnosis.

"You, you don't know what's wrong with me, do you?" he asked hesitantly.

"Not yet. So far, we haven't gotten any definitive results from your tests."

"This is bad, isn't it?"

"It could be," she answered softly. "Unfortunately, there are a number of conditions that could cause seizures. Some can be very severe, and others are easily treated. Until we can isolate what is causing yours, I can't give you a better answer."

"You're honest. I like that," Kelleher said. His hands twisted the sheet covering his body. When he noticed Cameron watching him closely, he dropped the material. "The boxing. It could have caused this."

"Did you meet Dr. Foreman earlier? He's a neurologist. Since you never boxed professionally, he thinks it's unlikely that it caused any brain damage."

"Unless there was an underlying condition, right?"

Cameron tilted her head, before nodding slightly. "It's rare, but sometimes it happens."

"Seems like karmic justice. Ah, don't worry about me. I'm just tired."

Outside the examination room, Dr. Wilson watched House, who in turn was observing Cameron's interaction with the ex-boxer. He walked over slowly, clasping his clipboard over his chest. He'd already heard that a patient had been flirting with her, and it was clear that House was there to check it out himself.

"Physical exams are easier if you actually go in the room," Wilson said with a feigned innocence.

"That's why I have lackeys. What's the point of having minions if they don't do your grunt work?"

"So, do you think those two will start grunting soon?" Wilson asked, ignoring the harsh look directed his way. "He is cute."

"Now I know why your marriages always fail. You needed to be the one in the dress."

"Hey, I'm comfortable with my masculinity. And I know what women like. He's buff, good looking, doesn't go around scruffy all the time."

"You aren't reassuring me," House said, hobbling away towards an empty exam room. "Have you thought about starting your own show on Bravo?"

"Yeah. ' Makeovers for jealous, obsessive doctors' has a nice ring to it. I even know where I can get my first project."

"It would be hopeless."

"Allison doesn't seem to think so," Wilson said softly as he followed him into the exam room.

"Why do people insist on talking about my personal life? Isn't it clear by now I don't want to talk about it?"

Wilson nodded. "And that's exactly why people talk. You don't provide any clues, so people have to fill in all the details themselves. It's probably not accurate, but it's a lot of fun."

"So, if I actually opened up to the entire staff, they'd finally shut up?"

"Hell, no. We'd wheel you up to the psych ward in a heart beat."

House sank into a stool wearily, letting out a long breath as he did so. Pulling his portable TV out of his pocket, he darted his eyes to his friend who was regarding him calmly. "Did it ever occur to you that I don't want to be her pet project of the month?"

"Did it ever occur to you that that's not what she had in mind?"

"Please. That's what she lives for. She married a man she knew was dying of cancer, and now that he's gone, she has her sights on me. She wants to 'fix' me."

Wilson's jaw dropped suddenly. "Please. I know this is probably hopeless, but, please, please, tell me you didn't say that to her."

"Why not?" House asked irritably. "It's the truth. And she asked me pointblank what I honestly felt. I told her."

"So, Allison, this nice, sweet girl that actually likes you for some mysterious reason. She watched a man she really did love die a slow, horrible death, and you mocked her pain and loss, saying it was all a game to her."

"Does that make me a bad boy?"

"No. It makes you a total ass," Wilson said, storming out of the room angrily.

Alone with his long-battered and oft-ignored conscience, House tapped his forehead against the handle of his cane. It had been an honest answer to Cameron's question. He'd wanted to discourage her, but he couldn't forget the pained look she'd given him later when she said she was glad he was capable of love, even if it wasn't her.

She'd been wrong. He could love her. If he knew that it wasn't going to turn into a total wreck if he tried. His hand automatically reached into his pocket, but he let the bottle of painkillers fall back in. Grimacing, he stood up and followed his friend out into the corridor.

"I didn't say it was all a game to her," he insisted, rolling his head at the glare directed his way. "Okay, I just implied it. See, this is why she's better off getting over her, her crush on me. Believe it or not, I'm not a people person."

Wilson turned slowly, shaking his head sadly. After a sigh, he went back to watching her through the glass wall. "She's not Stacy."

"I'm well aware of that," House answered in a low but harsh voice.

"Yeah, for one thing, she's actually available. You know, not being married to a guy she doesn't plan on leaving."

"She's also naïve. There aren't enough horses and king's men to put me back together again. She'd only wear herself out in the process."

"I don't think she'd agree. And I think she might be right."

"I think I may have a better handle on that," House said miserably.

"No, you don't. You've given up," Wilson said quietly. "Look, pain can wipe you out. You're living proof of that. But so is she." He waited until his friend met his gaze. "There's physical pain, and there's emotional pain. They're as different as night and day, and they're the same."

"Getting Zen on me?"

"Give her some credit. She's a lot stronger than you think. Probably stronger than she even realizes."

House didn't answer, but watched her exit the exam room. His eyes never left her as she made her way towards them. She was beautiful. She was smart. He did like her. Everyone did. She was the Typhoid Mary of niceness, spreading infectious globules of good cheer among the unsuspecting. What he didn't understand is what she could possibly see in him beyond something that needed fixing.

"Hey," she said as she joined them.

"Who's your friend?" Wilson asked lightly.

"He's an ex-Olympic boxer suffering seizures. Tests didn't show much. The liver functions are off slightly. Tox screen is clean, nothing came up on the CT, chems are within normal ranges."

House took the proffered reports and skimmed them quickly. "If he had a fever, I'd say it was encephalitis. It matches all the other symptoms," he sighed. "Let's do a spinal tap to be sure. And do sub-c smears on Kelleher to rule out parasites."

"Whoa!" Wilson said excitedly. "That's Glen Kelleher? Glen 'The Killer' Kelleher?"

His two companions exchanged a confused look before nodding. "And how did he get a nickname like 'The Killer'," House mused. "He's bashful."

"He killed his opponent during a match."

"He beat a man to death?" Cameron stammered, unable to believe her seemingly gentle patient was capable of that.

"No."

"He brought a gun to a boxing match?" House asked jokingly. "Well, that's not very sporting, but it's great thinking."

"It was the Madrid fight, about eight years ago," Wilson said to him. "Do you remember? The other fighter was some Eastern European kid with a congenital heart condition. There'd been no indications of it before that fight. One punch too many, and he died. Kelleher was the guy that did it."

"Explains why he was asking about pre-existing conditions," she said softly. "He wanted to know if the boxing could have been responsible. He even called it karmic justice."

"And I thought I was morose," House said.

"No. That fight ended Kelleher's career. After that, he had a couple more fights, but he always pulled his punches. He never trusted himself to go all out again. I've got to go," Wilson said, looking at his pager.

House scratched at his beard, making tsking sounds as he did so. "You can't just throw away an entire career that you spent your whole life building up."

"You also said he was lying about the steroids."

"So sue me. Professional boxers are funny. They have no qualms about pounding their opponents' brains to mush, but if they actually kill one, it can ruin their careers. Like Kelleher, they can't get back in the ring. At the professional level, that's a known risk, but you never expect something like that in the amateurs. No, if he quit because of the guilt, there's a good chance he's depressed, too. And people like that have a tendency to either self-medicate..."

"Screens were clear."

"Or to punish themselves," House continued with an annoyed tone. "What could he have done that wouldn't show up on the tox screens? Redo the blood tests and check his hair. And get a visual confirmation that he didn't do steroids."

Cameron nodded and moved off to order the tests. House watched her walk away for a moment before hobbling alone to his office.

* * *

Hesitating outside the exam room, House counted to ten before opening the door. His eyebrows immediately shot up as he walked towards the table. A heavyset man lay curled up on it, openly bawling. 

"And your chart says you have a rash, Mr. Smith," he noted, resisting the urge to ask if it was 'diaper'.

The man lifted his head up long enough to nod and point towards his groin. With the help of the nurse, he undid his pants, pulling them and his boxers down. After getting his gloves on, House looked up, and let out a long whistle.

"Wow! That's got to hurt."

Red, oozing blisters covered the crying man's genitals, lower stomach and upper thighs. "Am I dying?" the patient sniffed.

"No, but I bet you wish you were. You're wearing a delivery uniform. Let me guess. Your route goes through some nice, wooded parts of the county. Maybe somewhere that has a rest stop."

"Ye,ye, yeah," he spluttered.

"And you decided to stop for a little outside action. Another driver, some stranger, more fun that way. Nothing quite like some anonymous sex to make your day. The cops are always busting people for doing that at the rest areas."

"No! I'd get fired if I did something like that."

"Oh, you did it," House said firmly. "And I bet this feels worse than getting fired. But your partner got the worse end of it."

"What?"

"You have poison ivy. And wherever that went," he said, pointing to the man's groin, "they have poison ivy there. Bet they're remembering you real fondly right about now. I'll give you something to help with the blistering, but you're going to be sore for a while."

"You won't tell my boss, will you? He'll fire me if he finds out I, uh, make lunch stops. I like my job."

"Not my business to do that. Of course, you need to explain to him how you got poison ivy all over your equipment."

House rolled his eyes as the driver began bawling again.

* * *

Forcing a small smile, Cameron entered the room, clutching her clipboard. Kelleher and Joey were talking, with the older man obviously trying to cheer him up. She asked the trainer to give them some privacy, giving her patient a reassuring look. 

"Why do you want me to go?" the old man demanded. "Anything you can say to Glen, you can tell me."

"Go back to the hotel, Joey. There's nothing you can do here. Get some rest. Please," Kelleher said gently. He gave his trainer a friendly smile when he eyed him questioningly.

"How are you feeling?" Cameron asked once they were alone.

"Honestly, I'm just tired. It's Joey you should be checking up on. All this worrying – can't be good for him. He's still spry, but he's seventy, and he's got dermatomyositis," he said, sounding out the name slowly. "I keep telling him to retire, but he won't. So, is it bad news?"

"No. Your blood work didn't show any steroid use, but I … I'm sorry. I need to check your testicles."

As she suspected, he blushed deeply, looking away in embarrassment. "I told you. I didn't use them."

"In our experience, that's something people lie about a lot. You'd lose your medals if it word got out that you had used drugs."

"I'm not lying."

"It's also possible you didn't know about it. One of your coaches could have given you something, and you didn't know it contained steroids," Cameron said softly. "I understand this is embarrassing for you. Either I can do a visual inspection, or I can put my hand under the sheets and examine them that way. Which would be less embarrassing for you?"

"How about I send Joey out to get a digital camera and take a picture for you?" Kelleher asked hopefully. Seeing her determined look, he closed his eyes. "Whatever. I don't care. I'm not hiding anything. Just remember," he said bashfully. "You're a gorgeous lady. If you get more of a reaction than you expected, it's not my fault."

Cameron smiled kindly at him as she pulled back the covers and quickly lifted his gown. The visual inspection only took a moment, but Kelleher was blushing deeply again by the time she finished.

"Thank you. And everything is fine."

"I told you so," he said shaking his head. With a sigh, he smiled shyly at her. "You must really think I'm a nut. Oh, God, I don't believe I just said that."

"I think you're my patient, and you're going through a very trying ordeal. We're performing a spinal tap this afternoon. That's a very uncomfortable procedure. You should try to get some rest now."

Cameron was most of the way to the door before Kelleher responded.

"Hey, doc! Thanks. For everything. Like not laughing at me," he said, chuckling as she walked away.

She found Joey finding behind the hallway corner, his hand rubbing his arm nervously. Walking over to him, she pointed in the direction of some benches. Once sitting, the trainer immediately asked how he was.

"He's stable. If it weren't for the seizure, I'd say he was in almost perfect health. I need to ask you some more questions."

"Anything."

"We know Glen didn't use steroids, and he's not using drugs, at least not currently. Did he ever have a problem with substance abuse, even if it's under control now."

"Oh, no, doc, no. He was the baby of the family, and his oldest brother died of an overdose when he was a little kid. Glen watched it. He was dead before the ambulance got there. He don't talk about it, but that scared him, a lot. Uh, don't tell him I told you that."

"I won't. Could someone have slipped him something? One of his college or Olympic coaches?"

"I don't see how. He's so damn stubborn," Joey said, dropping his eyes to the floor. "Getting him to take something you get at the store is hard enough."

"Thank you. And he was right. You should get back to the hotel and rest. There's nothing we can do until we get some more test results back," she said kindly.

* * *

Sitting at the outside tables, Chase chewed his sandwich thoughtfully. After washing it down with some coffee, he addressed the other doctors. "What if we're chasing the wrong symptoms?" 

"Like what?" Cameron asked, sweeping back a stray lock of hair that the wind blew into her face.

"The manager said he had a seizure, but since he's been admitted, there hasn't been a sign of one, or anything that could trigger it."

"You think the manager lied?" Foreman asked. "Why?"

"To protect Kelleher?"

"From what?"

"It's possible," Cameron injected. "He's been hounded by investors wanting to take over his business. He complained about the stress. Maybe this was a way out for him."

"The way he's built? All he had to do was tell them he wanted more time to think about it or to go to hell. No sane person argues with an Olympic boxer."

"Okay, the trainer was mistaken. What if it wasn't a seizure but parkinsonism?" Chase asked. "The stress would make it worse."

"There's no sign of brain damage," Foreman said.

"It can be caused by toxins or carbon monoxide poisoning," he noted.

"His oxygen saturation levels are normal and nothing showed on the screens," Cameron said. "It could be another neurodegenerative disorder."

"If it is, it's something that doesn't show on the CT scan. Did you hear all of that, House?" Foreman called out loudly.

"Yes," he replied as he and Wilson joined the rest of the team from his vantage spot nearby. While he didn't say anything, he was glad to see the team examining other options. Not that he necessarily agreed with them, but being too narrow in their approach was a trap he wanted them to avoid.

"If Bashful Boxer doesn't have seizures, whatever else he had instead hasn't show up, either. And if he's faking it, he's putting up with a hell of a lot of pain to go through with this charade. But at this point, it's something to keep in mind," he said turning to Cameron. "Did you get the spinal tap?"

"It's scheduled for this afternoon," she told him. "And definitely berries, not raisins."

"So much for the steroid idea," Wilson said. "He still doesn't have a fever?"

"It went up to ninety-eight point nine, but that doesn't count as a much of a fever," House answered. "His liver functions are off, but that could mean he had a virus sometime in the last few months.

"I still say it may not have been a seizure. What about progressive supranuclear palsy?" Chase asked.

House's cup of coffee paused halfway to his mouth, and he shook his head. "Besides the fact he's too young and he can walk? And the patients really prefer it when their condition isn't something that'll kill them in the next few years."

"Or it was a seizure," Cameron said as she fiddled with her cup. "Angelman's Syndrome. He laughs a lot."

"When you're around. That's 'cause he's a flirt," Foreman said, grinning at her. "He didn't laugh once when I talked to him."

"Again with the still being able to walk thing," House said hotly, ignoring Wilson's amused look. "Big clue there."

"How do we know that?" Chase asked, prompting a round of incredulous stares. "Has anyone seen him walk? We don't know if he's having trouble with it or not."

House let out a resigned sigh and turned to Cameron. "Fine. Before the spinal tap, take Bashful for a walkabout. Look out for crazed wombats."

"What do we do now?" Foreman asked.

"I don't know about you, but I plan to eat," he said. Noticing the stares directed his way House rolled his eyes. "We do what we always do: we wait. If all the tests comes back clean, and he doesn't have any more seizures or whatever, we send him home with directions to take it easy and to get regular checkups. If something else goes wrong, we have a new symptom."

After the rest of the team had finished their lunches and left, Wilson began to laugh softly. House tried to ignore him, but the chuckles gradually became louder. Finally, people from nearby tables began to stare at them.

"Should I have Cameron test you for Angelman's?"

"You have it so bad," Wilson said between laughs.

"No, I had an infarction. That's why I have trouble walking. Don't you think a doctor should be able to keep something like that straight? Maybe Cuddy should be watching you. I think I like that idea."

"You know what I mean."

"No, I don't. And guess what? I don't want to know," House said shortly.

"Since when do you name patients after fictional dwarves?"

"If you think there are real dwarves, you need help."

"You don't like him – more than the way you don't like all your patients. You're jealous."

"You're delusional."

"Oh, no. I'm not. Why else were you staring at them earlier? You were checking out the competition," Wilson said, pointing at his friend and laughing.

"There's no competition," he replied quietly.

"No, you're the winner by default. The guy was flirting with her. It doesn't mean anything. There's no reason for you to get upset."

"And I'm not. That takes care of that. Next subject!"

"Hey, she likes you. God knows why, but she does. But if you're going to throw that away, then you have to let her go," Wilson said, his tone becoming serious. "She's been through enough already. Don't hurt her any more."

House remained at the table watching his friend walk away. Crumbling his coffee cup angrily, he muttered under his breath before heading back inside. "What do you think I'm trying to avoid?"

* * *

Cameron nodded to the exiting nurse before shutting the door behind her and closing the blinds. Kelleher hadn't responded to her, and she wondered if he'd finally fallen asleep. She double-checked the equipment the nurse had set out, verifying everything they needed was present before going to her patient. 

"Glen? Are you awake?"

"No, I'm not. People won't leave me alone. I thought you were supposed to be able to rest in the hospital."

She frowned at his irked tone. It was the first sign of irritation he'd shown, but weighed against how tired he was and the stress of his illness, it didn't seem an unreasonable response.

Just very unexpected.

"We're going to be doing your spinal tap in a few moments, and after that, you'll be able to rest. Before I do that, I need you to get out of bed."

"Want another peek show?"

"No. I need you to walk across the room."

"Why? Do you think I'm lying about that, too? I want to sleep. I'm tired."

"I understand. It won't take long," she said kindly, picking up the chart and quickly noting his change in demeanor. It could be simple exhaustion, but she recalled Joey's statements about how he had brief periods of moodiness.

Grumbling, the ex-boxer climbed out of his bed and easily began walking from one end of the short room to the other. "Fine. I can walk. See? I can do it backwards, too."

"Thanks, Glen. You can get back in bed now. Lie on your side and curl your legs up to your chest for me."

"You have no idea what the hell is wrong with me. No wonder. I'm fine. I'm just tired. Gotta milk the insurance company, right? Not like you don't make enough money as it is."

On the stool beside the bed, Cameron sat with a rising sense of unease. A mood swing this drastic was never a good sign. She quickly checked his vitals. His pulse and respiration showed a slight increase, but his anger explained that. Deciding it would be best to finish the tap as soon as possible, she drew the edge of his gown back.

As she reached for the Novocain, she spotted a sprinkling of red marks just below his shoulder blade. Setting the syringe back on the tray, she ran her gloved fingers over the area lightly.

"Stop that!"

"I'm sorry. Does the rash hurt?" she asked quickly.

"No, it itches. Damn thing's back."

"You didn't mention a rash on your history."

"Because it was gone. I just said it's back. Get Joey in here. At least he knows what he's doing. The pills he got for it before worked."

Cameron moved to the other side of the table, pulling out her flashlight as she did. A suspicion formed in the back of her mind that would account for his symptoms. If she were right, there'd be no need for the exceedingly painful spinal tap.

"Glen, you said he gave you pills. Was it a prescription?"

"Do I look stupid? I don't take someone else's pills. Joey knows that, and he gave it to me. That means it was something from the drug store. He said it was vitamins."

"Okay. Do you know the name of it?"

"Why? Don't you believe me?" he barked.

"Glen, relax," Cameron urged. "I think…"

"You think, you think," he shot back angrily, rolling over and swinging his legs off the table. "You want to know what I think? I think you're full of shit. I'm out of here. You damn witch doctor."

"Nurse!" she started to call, but a hand wrapped around her throat with an iron-like grasp.

Standing up, he pulled her face to his and sneered violently. "I said I was leaving, bitch. You try to stop me, and you're dead. You got that?"

She tried to nod reassuringly, while her hand moved behind her for the drawer containing pre-filled syringes. The pieces of his condition snapped into place, but Cameron understood the risk she faced, and, more importantly, why she had to prevent him from leaving the hospital.

His grip was tight enough that it was getting difficult to breath, and it took an effort to fight the rising fear. Her hand finally wrapped on the drawer handle, and she tried to open it. At that point, the nurse entered, immediately calling for help.

"Give him five milligrams of haldol," Cameron choked out weakly, drawing his attention back to her.

Kelleher saw her hand clasping the syringe, and he yelled in fury. His free hand shot out and grabbed her arm, twisting it violently. She screamed in pain, but it gurgled out as his other hand tightened around her throat.

By now, orderlies and nurses were rushing into the room, trying to restrain the boxer. The first nurse had the correct syringe, and she was attempting to inject him through the maze of limbs. Kelleher's elbow connected with her face, and the syringe went flying to the floor.

Sensing his danger, Kelleher threw Cameron to the side and rushed the other staff. The last thing she saw was him pounding a security guard to the floor. Her body connected with the wheeled cart with enough force to tip it over, and she continued until her head hit the wall with a loud thud. Blinding flashes of light stabbed behind her eyes as she sank into the darkness.

_TBC _


	3. Chapter 3

**Rash Decisions  
Summary:** After treating a man with a mysterious aliment, Cameron becomes a patient herself, prompting House to reevaluate his actions.   
**A/N: **In all fairness, Niff deserved a co-author credit on this story because she was an invaluable help with the medical aspects of the story. Since she refused, I'll have to settle by offering her my thanks. And thanks to Gibby and Ann for their beta services. All mistakes are mine; I don't share.   
**Rating:** Eh, let's go PG-13 for language.   
**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything remotely connected to this show. I haven't even seen all the episodes yet. I hope I have the characterizations right, but let me know if I screwed something up. I'm not a doctor, but I write for fictional ones. Don't trust my medical presentations to be completely accurate.

* * *

**Chapter 3 **

In the clinic, House took the file with a minimum of distaste. This was his last patient of the day before he could go home and watch the ball game. If he was lucky, it'd be another case of the sniffles, and he'd be eating pizza before the first pitch.

Walking into the room, thoughts of ball games faded.

"How did you do that?" House asked as he watched a nurse unwind the bloody towels wrapped around his patient's hands.

"We were practicing for our new act, and things really didn't go well."

He stopped and glared evilly at the wounded man. "Do you have a TV show by any chance? One that does incredibly stupid things, and then encourages kids to try it by telling them not to try it?"

"No," the man said in confusion. "I'm with the circus. I'm a clown. Out of uniform, though. Guess that fooled you."

"Yeah. What kind of act were you trying? Flossing an irate lion's teeth? 'Cause I got to tell you, dental acts always bite off more than they can chew."

"No. It was a juggling act."

"What were you juggling? Knifes?"

"Oh, no! Running chainsaws."

House lifted his head up and raised an eyebrow slowly. When the clown pointed a bloody hand and started laughing boisterously, he frowned.

"Gotcha! No, we were juggling stuffed hedgehogs. We were practicing off to the side when Louie tripped on his rubber chicken, and he bumped into Sasha and Katie, and they fell into Marko the Freak, and he tumbled over Jojo's mini-tricycle, and…"

"Whoa! Don't give away the ending," House said dryly.

"Hey, I can get you some tickets if you want…"

"No! Thanks. Can you move your fingers? Good. Make a fist. Okay, most of the cuts aren't very deep, but I'm sending you upstairs for some tests to make sure you didn't damage any nerves or tendons. Can't have a grown man in funny clothes and makeup scaring the kids with bad hands, can we?"

After completing the exam and instructing the nurse, he was getting ready to leave when the door to the room opened. "If that's Dr. Cuddy, I'm not here."

"Sorry, Dr. House, but she told me to get you."

"She can't get enough of me, you know. I'm such a stud," he told the clown with a bawdy wink.

"Dr. House! Your patient, Mr. Kelleher, went on a rampage when they attempted the lumbar puncture."

"What?" he asked quickly, spinning around in his stool.

"Dr. Cameron was injured, and so …" the nurse began, only to get out of the way as he hurriedly limped out of the room.

* * *

A heavy sensation cloaked Cameron, and flashes of pain shot through her skull. Gradually she became aware of voices. She was tempted to open her eyes to see who was yelling, but it seemed to require too much effort. When she finally recognized who was talking, she tried to force her eyelids to open. 

"She's coming around."

"Thank God. Cameron, it's Chase. Come on, now. Open your eyes for me. You can do it, I know you can."

She finally succeeded, but immediately closed them as the light stabbed through her brain. Before she could try again, her stomach revolted, and she felt her body being rolled to the side. She didn't question the bedpan that appeared in front of her mouth, but gasped at the pain in her throat.

"What happened to me?" she asked weakly, unaware of the concerned looks being shared by her friends.

"It's okay. You just hit your head," Foreman said kindly. "Do you know who I am?"

"You're the juvie."

"Allison!"

"Don't yell, Foreman," she said, forcing her eyes open again. "My head hurts. He's Chase. What happened to me?"

"She's perseverating," Chase said. Before she could object, she gagged. "She's going to be sick again. Roll her over."

Cameron's face screwed up at the vile taste of bile left in her mouth, and at the pain the vomiting induced. She felt hands around her ear, and a cool, damp swap moving over the area.

"She's not bleeding from the ear. It's all from the scalp. No signs of bruising behind the ear, either," Chase said as the nurses rolled her to her back again.

Panting weakly, she followed Foreman's order to track his fingers as he moved them in front of her face. Mentally, she tried to piece together what was happening. After Chase's comments about blood, she realized the side of her face was sticky. Why did he check for bleeding and bruising? Skull fracture?

"Guys, what happened?" she asked again, this time seeing the look between Chase and Foreman. "Tell me what's going on."

"You hit your head. What's the last thing you remember?"

"I…I'm not sure. Glen. Something in the exam."

"You have a concussion," Foreman said smoothly, resting a hand on her arm. "You're confused. That's normal. Don't worry about it."

"Why does it hurt to talk? Ow!"

"Sorry," Chase said contritely. "Extreme tenderness and swelling. The arm's probably fractured."

"I was in an accident?"

"Yes, you were," Foreman stated, daring Chase with his eyes to contradict him. "And you are going to be fine. We're going to order a CT scan for your head and X-ray your arm and neck."

"MRI for the throat?"

"Yeah. And spinal X-rays wouldn't be a bad idea, either."

"Are you trying to give her cancer?" Wilson exclaimed as he stormed into the room with Cuddy in tow. They stopped when they saw the scene. "Oh, my God."

Chase and Foreman exchanged a brief embarrassed look. They'd gone overboard in their list of tests to run. Cuddy surprised them by smiling kindly. "It's okay. I understand. It's different when it's someone you know."

"She's right," Cameron said hoarsely, forcing herself to concentrate. "Shouldn't have friends treat you. Want Wilson to be my doctor."

"I'll try to consider that a compliment," he said with a practiced softness as he approached. He was part way there when she rolled herself over to vomit.

"She has a concussion. That's the third time she's been sick," Foreman said. "She was out for nearly seven minutes, and she's perseverating."

"Arrange the head CT now," Cuddy directed a nurse. "X-rays?"

"Left arm's broken," Chase answered. "According to the witnesses, Kelleher had her by the throat and was choking her. Tossed her across the room that way."

"Okay, X-ray the arm, but that's it. Chun is the ENT on call. I'll send him down to check out her throat. If he wants more tests, he can arrange them. Where's Kelleher?"

"He was restrained and sent to the psych ward," a nurse answered. "He broke the security guard's jaw before we could sedate him."

"What happened here?" House yelled as he entered the room. Seeing Cameron on the bed, he stopped short and stared.

Lumbar punctures, commonly known as spinal taps, hurt like hell, and some patients tried to get away from the source of their pain. It was an extremely dangerous and stupid thing to do – which meant it happened more times than he could count. His initial thought had been Kelleher had done just that, hurting Cameron when she tried to be damn noble and comfort him.

Looking around the room, he knew at once that something else had happened. It looked like a tornado had ripped the place apart. Supplies littered the floor, equipment was broken and blood stained the walls.

And Allison was hurt so badly they didn't bother moving her to another room for treatment. His hand clutched his cane violently as rage rushed through his veins as he stared at her.

One of the first things he learned years ago was that scalp injuries bleed profusely. Parents of hurt children would scream that the doctors were ignoring the cut while they checked for other injuries, but that was because the cuts were harmless. It was frustrating to try to explain to the parents that it just looked bad.

For the first time, he understood just how terrifying it was for them. The side of her face was crimson with blood, and it soaked the top of her jacket and blouse. A small pool had even formed on the exam table. He knew the blood was something that he didn't have to worry about, but the image was frightful.

Cameron rolled her head slowly towards the sound of his voice, but he could tell she was having trouble focusing on him. "Damn," he swore softly, grabbing a pair of gloves as he moved to her side.

"Go 'way," she whispered.

"It's okay. You're going to be fine," House said with more compassion than most of those present thought possible.

"No. Wilson. Don't want you for my doctor."

"What?"

"Leave me alone. I don't want you treating me."

Cuddy came over and grabbed his elbow. With some jerking, she finally led him outside the room. "Come on, House."

"She needs a doctor."

"And he's handling it. She has a concussion. Don't upset her. She's getting the best care possible. Allison will be fine," she said.

Her manner carried too much consideration, making him uncomfortable, and House stormed a few steps away.

"What the hell happened in there?"

"We're not sure," she answered. "Cameron went in to do the lumbar puncture. A nurse heard something; when she opened the door, Kelleher was choking her."

House spun back around. "She's sure about that?"

"I'd think so," Cuddy said with a frown.

"No. Was he attacking her, or was he having a seizure and just grabbed a hold of her? That's a big difference." House fought the urge to grab his Vicodin. His anger at the boxer's vicious attack was threatening to explode, but this was too important.

"He was attacking her, sir," a bruised nurse answered. "When Kelleher saw the rest of us enter, he tossed her away and attacked the guard next."

"No!"

The group turned in the direction of the outraged voice. Joey stood there with a paper cup of water in one hand and a prescription bottle in the other. The elderly trainer was staring at them angrily. "What did you do to Glen? I went to his room, and the nurse said you sent him to a psych ward!"

Cuddy stepped forward, smiling professionally as she reached for the man's arm. He shrugged her hand away, glaring at her. "You're Mr. Kelleher's trainer, correct? I'm Dr. Cuddy, the hospital administrator. I'm afraid we had to have him sedated for his own protection."

"Don't bullshit me, lady. Better people have been trying it before you were born. Glen was fine when I left to get my medicine. They said he'd be back from his test by the time I got back. And you don't put people in the loony bin for their own protection. What the hell did you do to him?"

"How many times has he attacked people before?" House asked.

"What? Glen wouldn't hurt nobody," Joey said, stopping when a nurse left the exam room, and he caught a glimpse of the damage inside. "Lord have mercy. That's the lady doc that was taking care of Glen. What happened?"

"He attacked her. How many other times has he done that," House repeated forcefully.

Joey staggered to a bench, sinking down and shaking his head. A hand began to rub his arm nervously. "He never hurt nobody, Doc, I swear. Glen – he's competitive, but he ain't mean. That's why I told him to never go pro, even before that kid died. You gotta have a vicious streak to survive the pros, and Glen's not that way. I can't believe he did that."

"Here. I found the chart in the mess," the injured nurse injected.

"Thanks," House said, taking one look at the last entry before swearing again.

"What is it?" Cuddy demanded.

"He was complaining of a headache, and she noted that his mood had changed. You said he was fine when you left him. How long ago was that?"

"I dunno. Maybe half an hour," Joey said weakly.

"Did you see his seizure?"

"No. It was in the motel conference room. The bankers were all late. Glen was getting hungry. I went to find us something to eat. When I got back, the maid said he'd had the seizure."

"Was he angry?"

"Yeah, but like I said, we'd been waiting on those banker…"

"That makes you upset," House said shortly. "Was he angry enough that it was out of character for him?"

"Yeah, I guess. Didn't last long, though, Doc. He was his old self by the time we reached the hospital. I'm telling you, he's a good guy."

"Damn."

"The puncture was never finished. Do you want me to do it now?" Foreman asked.

"No. You don't need to. I know what's wrong with him. Chase was right. He didn't have a seizure and hit the wall earlier. He was attacking the wall. It's transient neuropsychiatric syndrome," House said, letting out a sigh as the last of his anger drained away. "The poor bastard."

* * *

After finishing his exam, Wilson began cleaning the blood from Cameron's face himself. He winked at her when she winced. "Don't worry. I can close this with two, three stitches max. It's above the hairline, so there won't be a visible scar."

"Glad you have your priorities straight," she answered weakly.

"Of course I do. Your CT came back fine. The fracture is small; it'll heal with no troubles at all. Chun said your throat's going to hurt for a few days, and you'll have a hell of a bruise on your neck, but there's nothing seriously wrong."

"And my head is ready to explode."

"Yeah. The concussion is the only thing we have to watch out for. We're going to keep you for observation for a day or two, just to be on the safe side. It's nothing to worry about."

"What happened? And I'm not repeating myself. I wasn't in any accident. I want to know the truth. Not knowing is driving me crazy."

"No, you weren't in an accident," he said as his smile faded. "What can you remember about what happened?"

"If I could do that, I wouldn't be asking you," she muttered grumpily.

"Oh, House is definitely rubbing off on you."

Cameron opened one eye to glare at him. "No need to be rude." When Wilson merely smiled at her, she shut her eye and groaned. Her memory of the time immediately before _whatever_ was jumbled and incoherent. "I was here. In the hospital. With Kelleher. He was upset for some reason. Right?"

"From what we can piece together. You went in to do his lumbar puncture, but he attacked you before you could finish it."

"No! Uh."

"Take it easy, Allison."

She looked at him sharply. There was something she needed to tell him; it was vital. But she couldn't remember what. Concentrating, she pursed her lips. "Transient neuropsychiatric syndrome."

"Wow, House really is rubbing off on you. That's what he thinks it is, too. The mood swing and the violence pointed to it."

"No."

"What do you mean?" he asked softly, frowning as her face scowled with effort. It was clear she was trying to remember something, but he didn't want her to push it. Confusion was a normal reaction to a concussion, and he knew it was possible she'd never be able to recall the attack in detail.

Actually, Wilson hoped she didn't. He wanted to forget it, and he'd only seen the aftermath.

"Something's wrong," Cameron said.

"What? Are you going to be sick again?"

"No, not with me. Kelleher. Something was wrong. Never started the puncture. What was it?" she growled in frustration.

"Okay, okay," he said soothingly, grabbing her shoulders gently when she tried to sit up too quickly. "I know it's disconcerting. Don't push it. You have to rest; it'll come to you in time."

"I, I guess you're right. I just feel like there's something I have to tell someone, but I don't know what."

"Look, you rest. I'll be back later to check on you. Can I bring you anything?"

"No. Thanks. And you are a friend," she said, enjoying his grin. "You're just not as excitable."

"And I didn't want to give you cancer. I like you, but I don't want you spending time in my ward."

Cameron forced a smile, watching him leave her room. After he was out of sight, she closed her eyes again, and tried to ignore the dull, constant throbbing. Her fingers worked slightly, and she winced at the pain from her arm. Flashes of what happened played in her mind, but in a random jumble. The only thing that was clear was a distinct feeling that she had to talk to someone.

She just had no idea what about.

* * *

Kelleher swung his head when the door opened and tried to lift it from the bed. "Who's there? Who is it?" he cried out.

"I'm Dr. House," a voice answered, limping into his view at the foot of the bed. He stared at the muscular man pulling against the restraints binding him to his bed.

"Why am I here? Who did this to me?"

"It's a necessary precaution."

"Why? Everyone is acting afraid of me. Why? Where's Dr. Cameron?"

"She's … indisposed at the moment. And people are afraid of you, I'm afraid," House said, sitting on the side of the bed. "You don't remember why, do you?"

"What are you talking about?" Kelleher demanded, making another attempt to free his hands.

"When you were admitted, you told Dr. Cameron that your trainer thought you'd been in a bad mood. You also told her you thought he was exaggerating. You lied. Everyone does, but I thought it was about the steroids. You actually had no idea what Joey was talking about."

"What's going on?"

"You went on a rampage earlier today. You hurt a few people."

"What?" Kelleher whispered, his limbs going limp as he stopped struggling. "No. I'd never hurt anybody. I wouldn't do that."

"Actually, you would and you did. It's not your fault, though. You have a condition known as transient neuropsychiatric syndrome."

"I'm insane?"

House swung his head a bit. "Okay, let's jump straight to the end. The 'psychiatric' part means that you are having psychotic episodes. The 'neuro-' part means that there's something biological causing your brain to do this. And the 'transient' means it comes and goes. In your case, you're experiencing brief periods of violent behavior. Afterwards, you have no memory of it."

"I am crazy. That's what you're telling me. That's why you have me strapped down like a mad dog," he said, his voice coming in uneven pants. "God. You said I hurt people. Dr. Cameron?"

"She'll be fine."

"Now you're lying."

"She'll be fine," House repeated, this time with a more even voice.

"What…what's going to happen to me?"

"Legally, you weren't responsible for…"

"No! I don't care about that. Can you cure this?" Kelleher asked hotly.

"It depends on the cause. Most of the time, in someone your age and health, the cause would be from withdrawal. But you aren't a drunk or a druggie. There are other causes, but sometimes, we never find out why."

"You can't treat me then."

House let out a sigh. "If it comes to that point, anti-psychotic medications help some patients."

"But you can't guarantee that they'll work; that I won't do this again. I don't want any treatment. Just let me die."

"Well, leaving you untreated is unlikely to kill you. And suicidal thoughts are common with this disorder."

"You don't get it," Kelleher whispered.

"You killed another boxer, and you gave up boxing. He had a medical condition that you had no way of knowing about. His death was an accident. It wasn't your fault. Neither is this. You have no control over it," House noted.

"And that makes it better? If it were my fault, I'd at least have a chance. I could try to control it. What do you expect me to do? Live the rest of my life strapped to a bed, or in a nuthouse or jail? You can't let me out with other people. I can never get married, never have kids. I'd…"

House stood up as Kelleher began to weep bitterly. "You're a fighter: fight! We don't know what's causing this yet. It's still possible to cure you. Don't give up. Give us some more time."

"Are my folks here yet?"

"I don't know. I can have a nurse check."

"Don't let them see me like this," he begged. "Please."

"All right," House said, watching sadly as Kelleher turned his head away.

* * *

House leaned against the low wall surrounding the roof, his gaze locked in the distance. Thoughts of heading home vanished long ago, and he returned to his old stomping grounds to think. It would be futile to try to sleep, and he didn't want to leave the hospital.

The stupidity of the gesture irked him. It was an emotional reaction to her attack, and it wouldn't make any difference. Cameron wouldn't know he was still there, worrying about the extent of her injuries. That he had briefly wanted to take his rage out on his own patient. She would never know how scared he had been, seeing her lying there in a pool – albeit tiny – of her own blood.

And he'd never admit to anyone how much her words had hurt him.

That fact really peeved him. He wanted her to give up on him, but he never thought how much it would hurt to actually hear her say the words. That couldn't be a good sign. He cared. He wanted her to like him. This was dangerous. You let people in, and they betray you.

To make it worse, her rejection extended into professional matters. It was bad enough she didn't want him around, but to not want House treating her really stung. He was a terrible person; everyone knew that. No sane person would want to be around him. But House was an excellent doctor, and having her doubt that cut through every wall that he'd build up over the years.

House shifted his weight and grumbled softly.

It was good that he made it clear he wasn't going to get involved. Why do something you know will be a mistake? He had enough pain already, for both of them. Neither of them needed any more. She'd asked him how he felt, and he immediately answered. It was the right thing to do.

Sure.

So why was he questioning his decision?

He lifted his hand and began rubbing his face. This was a reaction to her attack, nothing more. If he told himself it enough times, he'd might even believe it. Had he spoken too quickly? He went with his initial assessment. If he had been wrong, if she really did care…

"Thought I might find you up here."

His head snapped around quickly at the unexpected voice. Stacy walked towards him slowly, holding out a cup of coffee before her. He took it, turning away so she couldn't read his eyes.

"Thanks."

"No problem. How bad is she?"

"It's not good. The concussion is the main problem. She was out for seven minutes, repeatedly sick, perseverating," he rattled off, pausing at her confused look. "Saying the same thing over again. Broken arm, bruised throat. Probably a bunch of pulled muscles that she's not even aware of yet."

"If the hospital wants to press charges…"

"They can't," he said vaguely.

"Oh, I see. I work for the hospital, legal affairs. You can talk to me about a patient when it's relevant, but you don't have to. If they can't press charges, then it means he wasn't responsible for his actions."

"No. And do you know how scary that is? You have this big, strong guy, and he's one of the world's best at beating up other big, strong guys, and he has a condition that results in uncontrollable violent outbursts." He was silent for a minute, taking a long drink of his coffee. "A few more minutes, and he would have killed her."

"Now what? You know what he has, can't you treat him?"

"We know what he has. We don't know what's causing it. Until we figure that out, there's not very much we can do for him."

Stacy nodded, wrapping her arms around her chest. "And I heard she didn't want you for her doctor."

"She has a concussion. Not in her right mind," he answered with a shoulder shrug.

"Right. She wasn't joking when she said your first date was a disaster."

House sputtered on his coffee, pulling the cup away from his face and turning to his ex-lover. "You talked to Cameron about our date? Why would you do something like that? Why would she?"

Stacy smiled at his stunned outrage, giving him a wicked look from behind her coffee mug. "Don't you know? We have our own club. All the women in your life belong. We compare notes on making voodoo dolls. Cuddy's the head needle sharpener. She loves her job."

"Very funny. And it wasn't a date date. It was blackmail. It was the only way that she'd come back to work. I didn't have any choice."

"That was always your big problem, Greg. You always have a choice. You have to be open to the considerations."

"What about you? You have choices too, you know," he said softly.

"I love Mark," she whispered, reaching up to caress his face. "You'll always be the one that got away, but I'm not leaving him. It's over between us. I'm sorry about that, but it's the way it has to be. I found the one I'm going to spend my life with. Stop throwing away your chances. You're running out of choices."

"And just a minute ago you were saying there are always choices."

"You won't like the ones that you'll be left with. You'll be old, and alone, and all your choices are going to boil down to 'Do I want to live another day?' That's existence, not living."

"Existence is vastly underrated," he retorted with a forced levity. "Less complicated that way, at least. And I don't have to claw my way through drying pantyhose to find the shower."

Stacy shook her head and started to walk away. Reaching the stairway door, she looked back over her shoulder. "You can go through this alone or not. It's your choice. I told Cameron our first date was a disaster, too. You might still have a chance, but you won't get it up here."

After she left, House finished his coffee and swallowed more Vicodin.

_TBC _


	4. Chapter 4

**Rash Decisions  
Summary:** After treating a man with a mysterious aliment, Cameron becomes a patient herself, prompting House to reevaluate his actions.   
**A/N: **In all fairness, Niff deserved a co-author credit on this story because she was an invaluable help with the medical aspects of the story. Since she refused, I'll have to settle by offering her my thanks. And thanks to Gibby and Ann for their beta services. All mistakes are mine; I don't share.   
**Rating:** Eh, let's go PG-13 for language.   
**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything remotely connected to this show. I haven't even seen all the episodes yet. I hope I have the characterizations right, but let me know if I screwed something up. I'm not a doctor, but I write for fictional ones. Don't trust my medical presentations to be completely accurate.

* * *

**Chapter 4 **

Leaning against the wall, House tilted his head as he tried to get a better look. The blinds to Cameron's room had been drawn but not completely closed. The result was a zebra-striped view of Wilson as he completed a basic neurological examination. Or so he thought; it was really hard to tell.

House began to tap his cane absentmindedly as he continued his clandestine observation. He wanted to know her progress. Logically, he knew if her condition was serious, he'd have heard by now, but he also knew logic wasn't causing his stomach to twist into a Möbius strip.

The mix of emotions assaulting him was disturbing, but his mind kept coming back to the same question: why didn't she want him to treat her? If she was upset over how their date turned out, this was an immature way of showing it. He let out a brief grunt. Cameron was the nice one. He didn't believe she'd play a game like that. But the alternative wasn't much better.

House was ready to walk into her room when the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He didn't have to look down to see who had moved to his side.

"You're not treating her," Cuddy stated simply.

"Of course not! I'm just holding up this wall. Serious lack of maintenance, wouldn't you say? Wait a minute! Isn't maintenance one of those things you're supposed to be in charge of? Dr. Cuddy, I'm disappointed in you."

"I'm serious, House."

"Really? Does that mean all the other things you've hounded me about weren't serious? I can ignore those? Cool!"

Cuddy lifted her eyes to him with a long-suffering patience. "Believe it or not, I'm looking out for you. God know why I bother, but I am."

"I'm fine."

"Yeah, and you're about one complaint away from being forced to go to the Disciplinary Committee. I wouldn't be too confident about the outcome when you do finally do get called to a review. This may come to a surprise to you, but most people despise you," she pointed out.

"I can't imagine why," House said dryly. "I'm such a loveable fellow."

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe the fact that because of you, we lost Volger and his donation."

"So?" House asked with an annoyed look. "People should be glad Volger's gone. He was an ass."

"No, you're the ass. He was the one hundred million dollar ass," she answered curtly.

"The money again."

"Yes, the money again. This hospital doesn't run on fairy dust. It's expensive as hell. That type of money covers a lot of treatment, and that bought him tolerance for his attitude. You don't have that luxury."

House let out an irritated grumble. "You'll notice I'm outside the room. Never stepped inside. I'm not treating her. I do know something about medicine. You don't upset patients with head injuries."

To his surprise, Cuddy gave him a compassionate look, and that made him uneasy. "Look, I don't know how you managed to screw up your date…"

"What makes you think I did?" he asked hotly.

"Because she doesn't want you around. I think that rules out 'good date' right there. It can't be too bad. I know for a fact that Yule at Jefferson tried to lure her with a pay raise after she agreed to come back here."

"Really?"

Cuddy turned to him with a calculating stare. "Of course. She's an excellent doctor, with great references. I'm assuming you didn't hire her because of her looks."

House forced an innocent expression as he tapped his chest with his fingers. "Moi? Would I do something like that?"

"Stay away from her. Go to the clinic and get some of your hours covered," Cuddy said, rolling her eyes at the face he made. "I'm not joking. Don't go in there."

"I'm waiting for Wilson," he said. "We still have Kelleher to treat, and we're a doctor short. I wanted to get his input."

"Right. Go up to your office. I'll tell him to go there when he's done."

House pushed off from the wall, and then he turned towards it, patting it carefully. "I think that will hold until Maintenance gets to it. You really need to worry about what your job covers," he said with a disapproving scowl.

* * *

Chase sat at the desk, spinning a paperclip on the top of it in slow circles. Foreman paced the floor in front of him, every so often stopping to tap the top of the desk. "That is annoying," Chase finally told him.

"Sorry. Seeing a friend with the crap beat out of her always upsets me."

"I know how that is."

"Yeah, I know you do," Foreman said.

"What's wrong with you?"

"I stopped to get a cup of coffee."

"I'd say you've had enough caffeine," Chase noted when his colleague kicked at a trashcan angrily.

"Not now. Earlier. I was supposed to help with the lumbar puncture, but I stopped for a cup of coffee on the way. If I hadn't done that, I would have been there when Kelleher had his episode."

"Oh, the knight in shining armor! Except you'd have been charging a Sherman tank. He would have wiped the floor with you."

"And Cameron would have sedated him while he did it. Hey, here comes House."

"What are you doing in here?" he asked as soon as he limped into the office.

"Kelleher is with Psych. They're doing their own exam," Foreman explained.

"That's a waste of time. He's not schizophrenic, and if he were Sybil in disguise, someone would have noticed by now. Besides, the very first thing they'll do is rule out physical causes. What we're supposed to be doing."

"Cuddy ordered it. Probably has to do with the liability."

"And they're saving us the trouble of ordering PET scans and an MRI," Chase said.

"That doesn't mean you can't be working. We were looking for the wrong diagnosis earlier," House said. "I want you to go back over all the results, and see if there's anything that could be causing the transient neuropsychiatric syndrome."

"We're not better off than we were when we thought he had seizure," Chase said. "The number of causes…"

"Are legion. I know. I went to medical school, too, genius."

"We're all worried. You don't have to snap."

"But it makes me feel so snappy!" House said sardonically. "It's not withdrawal. His, not mine. I still have my happy pills."

"Well, his sugar levels were normal. It wasn't caused by hypoglycemia," Foreman said.

"His liver functions were off. Virus," Chase added.

"Both West Nile and Lyme's disease can present neuropsychiatric symptoms."

House grudgingly listed them on the white board. "So does AIDS, syphilis, Borna and a bunch of other viruses."

"What about Gerstmann-Straussler-Scheinker disease?" Chase asked. "It doesn't necessarily show on an EEG. He has the muscle weakness but no ataxia."

"That's right up their with Cameron's earlier suggestion of mad cow. It's weird. I like weird, but not in his case. It's almost always inherited, and there's no family history of neurodegenerative diseases," House noted. "What else?"

"Exposure to a toxin could cause the liver functions to be off," Foreman suggested. "Wilson."

House and Chase did a quick double take before noticing the other doctor heading towards their office. He entered and smiled as soon as he did. "I just checked up on Allison again. She's going to be okay. The confusion is starting to clear up. She can probably go home tomorrow; a couple days of rest, and she'll be back to work."

"Does she remember what happened to her?" House asked softly.

"Not really. That's … weird."

"That's actually normal with a concussion," Foreman said with a confused look.

"Right. But she knew your boxer had transient neuropsychiatric syndrome."

"Wow. And I thought the 'Dead Zone' was a work of fiction. Do I have to give her a pay raise if she's psychic now?" House deadpanned. "Oh, relax. She noted the mood change on the chart, and she obviously realized what his condition was."

"And that's where the weird part comes in. She's convinced there's something that she needs to tell you. Even after I told her you figured out the TNP, she still thinks there was something else. And it's frustrating her that she can't remember."

"Again, not unusual for a concussion," Foreman said.

"Does she have any idea at all what it is?" House asked, suddenly serious.

"Not a clue."

"It's probably the TNP. Before the attack, she'd have known it was something important," Chase said.

"Yeah. Probably," House said without much conviction. "When do we get Kelleher back from the men with the funny white jackets?"

"Probably not for a few more hours."

"Okay, in the meantime, you two go over all the labs, the scans, everything again. If the lab still has any of his blood, start running the gels. Start with West Nile and Lyme's; they're the most likely in this area."

House headed into his own office, scowling when Wilson followed. "Don't you have a wife or something?"

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Cameron kicked you out of the examination room. You're not fine, and if I know you, you're really pissed that she didn't want you for her doctor, forget all the butterflies and rainbows lovey-dovey stuff."

"Her brain has a boo-boo. Clearly, she's not thinking straight."

"I'm not sure it's her head. I'd go with the heart."

"A boo-boo to the heart? Oh, bad condition. Well, you heard her. She doesn't want me to be her doctor. Nothing I can do."

"I don't think that's a condition where a medical degree comes in handy."

"Then I'm really not the one to help. What's that?" House asked, staring at the folder in front of him.

"What does it look like?" Wilson asked with a grin. "Personally, I'd say it looks like a copy of a patient's file."

House blinked once before snatching the folder and quickly reading the contents. "I'm actually surprised at you."

"Why? If I didn't give you a copy, you'd steal one."

"Not steal. I'm a doctor here. I can read records. It would be snooping. There's a fine ethical difference."

"I didn't know you knew what 'ethics' meant," Wilson said with a grin.

"I know what it means. I just don't care. You didn't do head X-rays."

"No, I didn't. I spend all that time around those cancer patients; just can't bring myself to expose someone to unnecessary radiation. I'm weird that way."

"She hit that wall hard."

"Maybe hard enough to get a skull fracture. Yep," Wilson said calmly. "And so what? It didn't cave in, so she doesn't need surgery. There's no swelling of the brain. And it's not like we can put a cast on a skull. They heal on their own."

"Still…"

"Okay, before you go with something weird like leptomenigeal cysts," he started, counting out on his fingers. "One, that's rare. Two, there's no way to predict or prevent them even if there really is a skull fracture. And three, if she starts growing bumps on her head in a couple of months, I'd think she'll let us know. She will realize they aren't supposed to be there. I'll wheel her up to a neurosurgeon myself to get them removed."

House merely glared over the top of the folder for a minute before resuming his review of the file. "There were a lot of syringes flying around in there. She didn't get injected by accident?"

"No. You know, all this concern is really sweet, but I'm already taken. Why don't you go see her yourself?"

"Oh, and I can see that now. What do you think Cuddy would do to me if I tried to treat a patient who said she didn't want me around? I don't think it would be fun. For some reason, she picks on me."

"She doesn't pick. She does her job. And you are pathetic," Wilson said, shaking his head in mirth. "You can't figure it out. Okay, doctors and nurses can see patients. Who else can? Hmm. Let me think. I know! Visitors!"

"Visiting hours are over. It would be abusing my position to go now. Oh, don't look at me that way. You fight dirty, using puppy dog eyes. Some poor dog is going around blind now. Go home," House said, turning his attention back to Cameron's file.

* * *

"I told you he cared," Chase said quietly as they re-examined Kelleher's CT scan.

"I never said he didn't care. I said their getting together was a bad idea," Foreman responded.

"Why?"

"Well, I'd go with the fact that House is an arrogant, heartless, condescending jerk for a start."

"Cameron doesn't agree. And you just admitted that he cared."

Foreman shot him an annoyed look. "Technically, no I didn't. I never said he didn't care. Doesn't mean that I think he does."

Chase turned from the scan to regard his companion closely. "Are you in love with her?"

"What?" he exclaimed, his eyes opened wide in surprise.

"You don't want her to be with House. She wants to be with him. As a friend, if she thinks that's what will bring her happiness, then you should support her. Unless you don't want her to be happy with him."

"Okay, back up. She's my friend. I do want her to be happy. But what I care about is that she doesn't get hurt, and there's no way being involved with House would lead to anything but pain," Foreman said, giving the other doctor a questioning look. "And you think their getting together is a good idea?"

"What I believe is that people should be able to pursue what they want. Personally, trying to bag House wouldn't even make the bottom of my list, but it's her choice. I have no reason to think she's incapable of deciding that for herself."

"She thinks there's good in everyone."

"Uh, huh. Of course, there's the flip side. You hate House. You don't want him to be happy, so you don't want Allison to try. You think she'd be able to get through to him, and you'd rather he be miserable."

"Please," Foreman said impatiently. "If I thought for a minute House could be un-miserable, I'd tell her to go for it. That might mean he'd actually start acting like a better doctor around here. He'd actually consider the patients. I'm all for that."

"Okay. Well, that brings us back to whether you're in love with her yourself," Chase quipped with a broad grin.

"Oh, shut up!"

* * *

House stood in the doorway for a long time, just watching Cameron. Her eyes were closed, and she'd yet to react to his presence, but her vitals were normal. When a nurse started to walk up to him, he held out his hand and shook his head.

He made his way to her bed, sitting down on it softly. She slowly turned her head towards him, but didn't say anything. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his flashlight while his other hand pushed a lock of hair from her face. He looked back in shock when her hand weakly pushed his away.

"Don't," she said quietly.

He cringed slightly at the rough sound of her voice. "Sorry, reflexes. I do those doctor things without thinking. Crazy, I know. I'm not here as your doctor. Because Cuddy would throw a fit if I was. No need to mention it to her."

"So, why are you here?"

"Can't I come visit a friend?"

Cameron looked at him incredulously. "You don't have friends."

"Never thought that would be a drawback," he said, adding a playful waggle of his eyebrows. When that didn't produce a smile, he frowned. "Is it really that hard to believe that I'm here for a visit? Well, don't answer that. It probably is, but I am."

"Thank you," Cameron said as firmly as her injured throat allowed. "But I don't think I'm up for this."

"This what?"

"Whatever it is you're doing."

House dropped his head and stared at his hands for a moment before looking up again. "Then I'll make it brief. I think we have a serious problem. I'm your boss, and you work for me in a medical surrounding. If you don't trust my medical judgment, then that's not good."

"I trust you," she said earnestly. "I just don't want you for my doctor."

"Why?" When she made no move to answer, House let out a sigh. "That's my last question. I'll go as soon as you answer it."

Cameron stared out the room's glass wall for a moment before turning back to him. Her hesitance was noticeable, and he nodded slightly.

"Okay. Hypothetical situation: you have two people. The first person likes the second person. Now if that second person likes the first, but he pretends he doesn't, that's, well, shy, silly, immature. Take your pick. But if the second person doesn't like the first, but he pretends to care when the first person is sick – that's just cruel."

House sat there, his mouth opening slightly, unsure how to respond. Before he could think of something, Cameron asked how Kelleher was doing. He gave his head a shake, as if he were trying to clear it. "We're still trying to find out what's causing it. The peons are reviewing the records."

She closed her eyes, and House stood up to leave, but he noticed her mask of concentration. "Wilson said you thought there was something else."

"No, I don't think there's something else, I know there is. It's in here," she said, pointing towards her head. "It's like it's on the tip of my tongue, but I can't wrap my mind around it. Damn."

"You can't lie very well, do you know that? It's all the goodness fluffed inside you. Keeps leaking out. You have an idea."

"It doesn't fit, though," she said. "I don't know why I keep going back to it. It doesn't make any sense."

"What?" House urged.

"It's stupid."

"So? You have a concussion. You're allowed to make one stupid statement. I won't hold it against you. At least not in public," he said, pausing before continuing with a lecherous tone. "Unless that's what you're into."

Cameron opened her eyes and looked at him uncertainly.

"I promise I won't laugh."

"Malaria," she sighed.

_TBC _


	5. Chapter 5

**Rash Decisions  
Summary:** After treating a man with a mysterious aliment, Cameron becomes a patient herself, prompting House to reevaluate his actions.   
**A/N: **In all fairness, Niff deserved a co-author credit on this story because she was an invaluable help with the medical aspects of the story. Since she refused, I'll have to settle by offering her my thanks. And thanks to Gibby and Ann for their beta services. All mistakes are mine; I don't share.   
**Rating:** Eh, let's go PG-13 for language.   
**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything remotely connected to this show. I haven't even seen all the episodes yet. I hope I have the characterizations right, but let me know if I screwed something up. I'm not a doctor, but I write for fictional ones. Don't trust my medical presentations to be completely accurate.

* * *

**Chapter 5 **

In the diagnostics department, Foreman stopped stirring his coffee and turned to stare at House in disbelief. "Malaria?"

"That's what she said."

Chase shrugged and leaned back in his chair. "Kelleher boxed at the international level. He'd have been in countries where it's prevalent. Falciparum malaria can produce the same symptoms as transient neuropsychiatric syndrome."

"But he hasn't been out of the country in years," Foreman countered.

House let out a huff as he moved to his chair. "There's that, and considering he's not melting the tubing in his arms with a raging fever, I think we can rule that out."

"Falciparum malaria can cause brain damage," Chase continued. "Some studies now suggest that many of the Vietnam veterans suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder actually contracted falciparum while they were in the war. The residual damage is what's causing their symptoms now."

"His history said he was never seriously ill," Wilson said. "House is right; high fever always goes with falciparum. There's no way he could have contracted that form of malaria without realizing it. And he couldn't have boxed while he was that sick."

Seemingly ignoring the conversation, House tapped his cane on the floor. "So why did she say that?"

Foreman let out a sigh as he leaned over House's desk. "Look, I know this is fancy neurology stuff, but she has a _concussion_. That means her brain is hurt. Confusion is normal. If Cameron was saying fluffy bunny rabbits caused the TNP, you'd ignore it, but to her, right now, it makes the same amount of sense as malaria."

"He's right, you know. The odds that Allison will ever completely remember what happened during and immediately before the attack are slim. We can't take what she's saying too literally."

"This coming from Malaria Boy," House grumbled.

"Look, you want to take what she said seriously. That's nice. Actually, coming from you, that's incredible," Foreman said. "But that doesn't mean there's any validity to it. Come on. Malaria? You know he doesn't have it, and he never had it."

House rubbed his chin for a moment. "Nothing on the tests? If it's not biological, let's hope it's environmental. Get their motel keys. Check out the rooms. Let's see if we can rule out a reaction to a toxin."

"They've been on the road a lot," Wilson said uneasily. "There's no way of knowing how many planes, motel rooms, taxis he's been in."

"You left out restaurants, bars and carryout joints, but Kelleher got sick now. Let's check what we can. Call me nutty, but I like it when I can tell a patient he doesn't have to kill himself to make sure he doesn't hurt anyone ever again."

While the others gathered their things, Wilson leaned over and spoke softly. "I'm glad you went to see her."

"Yeah, well the next time you get any brilliant ideas, keep them to yourself," House snapped. "Foreman!"

* * *

Hearing the knock, Cameron looked towards the door and smiled. "Eric. Hi."

"Hi, yourself," he answered. "Are you feeling better?"

"Lots. Thanks for asking."

Foreman raised an eyebrow disapprovingly before he checked her chart. "You need to work on your poker face. You're the patient now. Remember, we like it when they're honest with us. How bad is the pain?"

"My head feels like it's about to explode, but I probably won't vomit on you," Cameron said, her lips twitching slightly. "My knight in shining armor."

"Oh, you're going to mock me when I'm here to visit you! Remind me to kill Chase."

Her smiled faded but her voice was still friendly. "It wasn't your fault, Eric."

"I hear ya, but it doesn't make me feel any better, you know?"

"Yeah." Once he pulled the flashlight away from her eyes, she glared at him as he started checking her reflexes. "Did House put you up to this?"

"The visit? No. Checking on you? Of course he did, but don't worry. I'm getting two hundred bucks from him for it," Foreman said, laughing at her offended look. "Come on! We're all going to go out and celebrate when you get out of here. Well, as much of a celebration as you feel up to. That'll probably be some applesauce and shuffleboard."

"If that," she groaned, but with a smile.

"But we might as well let him pay for it."

"He's not going to be there, is he?"

"Uh, oh. This isn't good," Foreman said softly.

"What?"

He leaned back and stared at her with his eyes opened wide. "You're actually asking if House will come to a party."

"Oh, shut up," she said. "It hurts to talk."

"Sorry," he chuckled.

"And you should be," Wilson said as he came into the room. "Allison's my patient. I don't want to share. Scat. You're supposed to be breaking into a motel."

"And how much is House paying you to check up on me?" Cameron asked with a mock-scowl.

"Oh, man. I'm slipping. I gave him a copy of your chart without even thinking of payment," he answered. His smile faltered when her scowl became real, and he pointed nervously. "You didn't hear that. It's something your brain made up while you were sick."

"Don't," she croaked. "Don't mess with my mind, please. I won't even get mad that you gave House a copy of my file against my wishes."

"He's worried. And he would have gotten it anyway."

"Hah. So, when can I get out of bed? I'll settle for a wheelchair ride."

"Ah, you want to show off that fancy stitch-work of mine. Where do you want to go first? Radiology? The cafeteria for some juice?"

"Psych ward," she answered.

"No need for that. You head's clearing up fine," he joked, smiling at her look. "You want to visit Kelleher."

"He's my patient. This wasn't his fault. He had no control of the situation. It's my job to reassure him, and I don't want him to worry about me."

"That's actually very noble, not to mention a good sign. We worried that you'd be a little jumpy after what happened," Wilson said. "But no. You can't go see him."

"Why not? Do I look that scary? You're worried that it will make him feel guilty."

"It's simpler than that. He doesn't want to see you."

"What?" she asked with a frown.

Wilson crossed his arms as he sat on her bedside. "He specifically mentioned you as one of the people he doesn't want to meet. The other people he hurt are on the list, along with his parents. Still, it stings doesn't it? Someone who was so friendly to you earlier saying they don't want you to treat them."

Cameron gave him a sharp look. "Who I want for my doctor is my own business."

"Allison, he's actually paying people to check up on you. He probably has more up-to-date information on you than I do. He'd never admit it, but he's worried. And you hurt him. More than I think you realize."

"You still think I'm the one that's going to break his heart? I can't do that. It's not possible. You have to care about someone for them to be able to hurt you like that," she said, lifting a hand to wipe at her eyes. "I'm tired. I need to rest."

Wilson watched her sadly, regretting that he'd brought the matter up. He reached over and squeezed her fingers gently. "Yes, you do. You'll feel better later. I promise."

"Sure I will."

* * *

Kelleher stared at House in horror, panting heavily as he shook his head. "Stop. Don't do that. Please don't do that."

"Sorry," he replied, undoing the restraint and moving to the next one. "But you have to walk."

"Don't do this. I don't want to hurt you. Please, go away."

"Well, considering you're actually worried about hurting me, I'd say that's a good clue you aren't having a psychotic episode. Besides, I came prepared," House said, waving his cane. "Okay, that's not much of a defense. I have these, too," he added, popping a Vicodin.

"Why are you doing this?"

He didn't answer as he moved to the far corner of the room. Despite his glib statements, he knew there was a slight risk with his experiment, but he wanted to complete this. Cameron thought there was something else involved here, and he believed her. She observed something in him before the attack that led her to the TNP. The malaria her brain provided was obviously wrong, but there was a reason why she came up with it. If he could recreate the circumstances, he might figure out what it was causing the boxer's condition.

"Come on. Get out of bed."

"No."

"Were you this stubborn with Dr. Cameron? I know I don't look as good in a swimsuit as she does, but that's no reason to give me trouble."

"I don't know! I don't remember."

Seeing Kelleher was on the verge of tears again, House clenched his teeth for a minute. Using the patient's guilt against him was probably cold, but it could save what was left of his life. "I'm trying to help her."

On cue, the boxer immediately looked back. "What's wrong with her?"

"Well, during your little episode, you tossed her across the room. I'm sure it was accidental – probably – but she bumped her head. Hard enough to give her a bad concussion. Oh, stop it! Don't blubber. It's embarrassing when someone as strong as you does that."

Kelleher shot him an angry look, and House's hand tightened on his cane automatically. With a sigh, the powerful man sat up. "How will this help her?"

"Well, confusion and short-term amnesia are common after a concussion. She can't remember exactly what happened, but she noticed something in her exam. It's driving her batty," he said, pausing and rolling his eyes when another patient began screeching down the hallway. "It's frustrating her that she can't remember what it is."

"And if you can find out what it is, you can tell her."

"Bingo! Now get out of bed and walk around for me."

House leaned in the corner of the room, watching Kelleher move gracefully back and forth several times. He doubted Cameron had made him walk this much, but he didn't want to miss anything. Unfortunately, it provided no clues. After a few minutes, he told him to get back into bed.

"Roll over on your side and bring your knees up," he instructed, pulling on a pair of gloves. Immediately, he noticed the lack of a needle injection mark. She'd never even given him the local anesthesia, meaning whatever she noticed happened early on during the procedure.

House let out a huff, and he reached over to pull the back of the gown further apart. The first thing that registered was the sheer amount of muscles. The second thing was a small rash.

"Did that hurt?" he asked after Kelleher jerked when he ran his fingers over it.

"Itches like hell. Figures it would come back now."

"Come back? There wasn't anything in your history about a rash. When did you have it before?"

Kelleher rolled over and stared at the ceiling. "It started when I went to New York for the first meeting with the ad people. That would have been six, seven weeks ago. Something like that. Wouldn't go away, so I finally let Joey give me something for it."

"Do you remember the name of the cream?"

"Nah, it wasn't anything like that. He found some vitamin stuff for it."

"Vitamins?" House repeated with a questioning look. Rashes normally went away without treatment, and he doubted a supplement would have helped. It was the only lead he had, though. "What kind?"

"To tell you the truth, I have no idea."

"You don't know what kind of pills you were taking?" House asked, his mind considering the possibilities.

"No. I never saw the box. I told you. Joey got them for me; he even made sure I took them. He usually gave them to me at the same time he took his meds."

"Usually – that means there were times when he didn't. Did he ever give you extra?"

"Yeah, on our last trip to LA. All this traveling was getting to him, and the jet lag didn't help. There was one day he was really out of it, and he gave them to me a couple of times. It was just vitamins, so I didn't say anything to him," Kelleher said. "And don't you, neither. He was just tired that day. His mind's still sharp. It's just his body that's giving out on him."

House suddenly stood up, and a slow, broad grin formed. "God, she's brilliant! Malaria! Of course!"

"What? Doc? Doc! You didn't put the restraints back on," Kelleher cried out as he bolted out of the room. When House didn't stop, the boxer began buckling himself back to the bed.

* * *

After returning from the motel empty handed, Chase and Foreman went looking for House. As they entered a hallway from one end, he rounded the opposite corner. The pair exchanged concerned looks over the way he moved towards them.

"We didn't find anything in the motel…"

"Of course you didn't. The trainer has it with him."

"What's going on?" Chase asked. "What does he have?"

"Malaria," House called out over his shoulder.

The two stood there for a long moment, both staring at him as he stalked away. Chase's face grimaced in confusion. "Do you think he banged his head as well?"

"Let's find out," Foreman sighed.

They found him bearing down on the trainer, who sat on a bench absentmindedly rubbing his right arm.

"What is it? Scleroderma? Pemphigus? Polymyositis?"

"What?" the old man said, leaning back from the angry doctor.

"What causes your rash?"

Joey looked towards his arm and back to House. "Dermatomyositis. How'd you know about that?"

"Because you take Aralen for the condition. And you gave it to Kelleher."

"I wouldn't do that," he insisted, but dropping his head as he stood up and started to walk away. "Glen don't like drugs."

House slapped his cane onto the wall in front of the trainer, stopping his escape. "Right. That's why you never let him see the box. If he knew it was your prescription, he wouldn't have taken the pills. So you lied to him. You weren't giving him vitamins."

Joey stood up straighter, but he had a guilty expression. "No, I wasn't. It was that damn rash. He couldn't sleep, and he was so exhausted from the stress. I couldn't talk him into seeing a doctor. It helped my rash, so I gave it to him."

"Your skin condition is a byproduct of an auto-immune disorder. The medication treated that, not the rash. The active ingredient in your Aralen is chloroquine. That's mainly used to prevent malaria."

"It helped Glen's rash, and it stopped him from getting malaria," Joey said indignantly. "So what?"

"So what? A small percentage of patients have a severe reaction to chloroquine. You didn't help him! You poisoned him when you gave him too many!" House barked. "You idiot, if you hadn't lied to us, we could have prevented that attack on Cameron. Now he has to live with that for the rest of his life."

"Wh…wh…wh…"

"Damn it!" House swore as the old man collapsed onto the bench. "Get a wheelchair. Listen to me, Joey. He's going to be fine. We can treat him now. You're going to be fine. And you are not having a heart attack," he added hopefully, stepping back as Foreman and Chase took him away.

"Cuddy will _love_ this."

* * *

Back in the clinic, House glared at the nurse who handed him the patient's chart. Cuddy had added extra clinic hours to his never-ending sentence for his causing Joey to have a panic attack, and he was sick of sick people. Walking into the room, his first thought was to run away, but the hospital administrator was standing watch in the waiting area.

"Hi, Dr. House! It's me again. Freedom," the crystal-covered woman told him with a bangle-clashing wave.

"Ah, yes. Rainforest. How are you feeling today? A bit chopped down?"

"I told you I didn't have the flu. I'm still sick. I feel worse, in fact."

"Funny thing about viruses. They tend to do that," House said sarcastically. He moved to her, grudgingly but competently completing an exam. "You have the flu. You need to rest. And you're not French. Buy some deodorant," he added before heading towards the door.

"I do wish you'd be a bit more open-minded. I was going to tell you that I've been sweating heavily, even when I sleep."

"Why don't people mention things like that up front?" he groused.

"Do you know what you need? Some healthy food. I have this delicious sheep's milk cheese my boyfriend brought back from Mexico. You'll love it."

House took his hand of the door's handle, and dropped his head to his chest. He groaned loudly before he hobbled back to her. A Vicodin disappeared in his mouth before he took three steps. "Is it a fresh cheese or aged?"

"Fresh. Are you interested?"

"No! And you don't eat cooked foods. Let me guess. It's a raw-milk cheese."

"Of course. Why would anyone eat anything else?"

"Oh, I don't know," House said with an exaggerated shoulder shrug. "So they won't die?"

"W…w…what?"

"Do you know why the government started requiring milk to be pasteurized? Don't listen to your crystals; it wasn't a nefarious plot by big business to wipe out small farms. It was to stop the spread of diseases, two biggies in particular."

"But raw food…"

"Is a perfect incubator for bacteria. Especially milk from countries with lousy health code standards," he said, sinking back onto the stool. "Nasty things. And do you know what one of those big diseases was?"

"No, and I don't see what this…"

"Tuberculosis. TB. Consumption. All kinds of names, but it's the one where you hack your lungs out of your body."

"I have TB?" Rainforest whispered in terror.

"No. That's only one of the major diseases pasteurization prevents. There were all kinds of other things in raw milk. There's diphtheria, strep, staph, typhoid fever and scarlet fever. You can also get listeria, salmonella, yersinia, campylobacter, and let's not forget our friend escherichia coli; you probably know him as E. coli," he said, pausing to take a dramatic breath. "All very nasty bugs. All will cause very nasty symptoms. May kill you, but probably not. You'll just wish you were dying."

"Which, which of those do I have?"

"Did I say you had any of those? No! Do I need to get a frequency for one of your crystals?" House asked.

Rainforest's mouth opened and closed as she stared at him. "What's wrong with me?" she asked pitifully.

"I did say there were two major things pasteurization kills. TB is one. The other is the brucella microorganism. It absolutely loves to live in sheep. It's pretty much been wiped out in the US, but not in Mexico. It gives you something called brucellosis."

"Is that bad?"

"Well, it's not good. Do you feel good?"

"No. So, that's what I have."

"You probably have the early stages of it. The aging process usually kills whatever's alive in it, but fresh cheese is a great incubator for diseases. It's a good thing your crystals told you something was wrong, because if left untreated, brucellosis causes permanent heart and nerve damage."

"Is it treatable?"

"Did the 'left untreated' part give you a clue at all?" House asked in exasperation. Seeing her tears, he pulled off his gloves with a grunt. When he continued, his voice was calmer. "In most cases, a course of antibiotics over a six-week period will treat the initial infection, but I told you it was nasty. It can, and probably will, recur. If that's the case, you have to go see a real doctor – shocking, I know – and get more antibiotics."

"I don't like taking medications."

"Fine. That's your choice. You can die instead."

Rainforest blinked rapidly. "You're sure that's what I have?"

"No. I said it was what you probably had. A blood test may reveal it, but to be sure, we're going to have to take a bone marrow sample."

"Is that painful?"

"Oh, yeah!" House said, nodding his head. "Extremely painful."

* * *

After speaking with the nurse for a few minutes, House quietly made his way into the room. Setting the bag on the floor beside the bed, he sighed and took another step forward. A muscle in his jaw twitched as he debated the wisdom of his visit. It was lame. He was getting ready to leave when Cameron opened her eyes, and her expression was enough to convince him to stay.

"Hi," he said softly, taking another step forward, dragging the bedside tray with him. Next, he fumbled in his coat pocket, pulling out a small stuffed teddy bear. "This is for you."

She smiled at him before hoarsely laughing at the bear. It was dressed in a very short and provocative nurse's uniform. "Cute outfit."

"Well, the doctor bear in the gift shop was too grumpy looking. Besides, this one was _way_ hotter."

"Thank you. That was nice of you."

He darted his eyes around the room until he spotted a small collection of plush toys sitting with some flowers at her bedside. Picking up the bear, he walked it there and set it in the middle of the other gifts. "I'll just put this with the rest of your family reunion. Let her catch up with all the gossip about frigid Aunt Alice."

"Elisa," she said, smiling again at his exaggerated shrug.

House took his seat again, tapping his cane lightly on the floor. After a minute, he forced a smile. "Malaria. Anti-malarial medication. Nice to see that incredible brain of yours still works after getting scrambled. That was a sharp call. This is why I wanted you on my team. You're good."

"Thanks," Cameron repeated, feeling slightly uneasy with the unexpected praise. "It was probably the chloroquine that caused Glen's second rash. That was the clue. How's he doing?"

"Physically, he's doing pretty well. He's responding to the ammonium chloride treatment, and he hasn't had any more psychotic episodes. The ophthalmologist thinks the eye damage may be permanent, though."

"And beyond physically?"

House shook his head slightly. "He's a guy who couldn't box any more because he felt guilty that an opponent who shouldn't have been boxing in the first place died. Attacking a hospital staff? This…he's not taking it very well."

"Is he getting therapy?"

"He and his trainer, both. That guy is half-suicidal. He really thought he was helping Kelleher by sharing his medication with him."

"When you check up on Glen again, will you tell him I still want to see him? This isn't his fault. He has no reason to feel guilty about what happened. I want to make sure he understands I don't blame him at all."

"I don't think it'll do any good," he said slowly, chewing his lip for a moment. "You have to learn that there are just some situations that you'll never be able to control. There are some people who can't be fixed. And that you aren't to blame for how other people react."

Cameron dropped her eyes briefly. "I…I owe you an apology. I'm not exactly feeling that great, and I shouldn't have snapped at you earlier. I'm sorry."

The nurse arrived then carrying two large plastic cups, and House pointed to the tray. After she deposited the drinks and left, he used his cane to pull the bag he'd deposited earlier to his side.

"Do you know what's the biggest danger a hospital patient faces?" he called out as he bent over and rummaged through the bag. When he sat back up he placed a bud vase on the tray and filled it with water from the pitcher by her side. A single red rose went in next. "The food. You can't get better eating that crap."

"What are you doing?" she asked softly as he returned to the bag.

Staring into the sack, House made a face and sighed. That was an excellent question. He'd been asking himself the same thing ever since he got the idea. "It's a universal truth that all first dates go horribly."

"No, it's not."

"It is in my world, and what else would I be talking about," he said, placing a linen napkin and silverware in front of her.

"If that's true, then it's a self-fulfilling prophecy."

"Uh, sorry. Boo-boo to the head. You can't be talking about something like prophecy without getting everybody worried. Chicken noodle or beef vegetable?"

"What?"

"Soup. I didn't think you'd want to eat something heavy. Besides, it's hell trying to use a knife and fork when one arm is in a cast. Here's the chicken noodle; it's supposed to be good for you."

Cameron stared in astonishment as he placed a soup bowl in front of her and poured the contents from a Styrofoam container into it. He then disappeared into the bag again to retrieve a smaller paper bag full of rolls and crackers.

"You'll have to settle for apple juice, I'm afraid. Cuddy would throw a fit if I brought you wine. She's always out to get me."

"I…this…I…"

"Oh, the things you say! You'll make me blush if you keep that up. Go ahead and eat before it gets cold," House said, quickly diverting his gaze back into the bag.

His eyes opened wide in disbelief. All he wanted to do was cheer her up, nothing more, but he was enjoying himself; this was a bad sign. He wanted her to enjoy it, too. Very bad sign. Damn it. Wilson would gloat forever if he ever found out. "Would you like some whipped buttery product for your roll?"

Cameron just stared at him, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. "You…but… I…"

House rolled his eyes. "I told Wilson to go for the skull X-rays."

"Thank you."

Her tone made it clear her gratitude extended beyond buttering her roll, and he met her eyes only briefly before opening the second container of soup for himself. After a long silence, he began looking around.

"Good soup," she added. "This was very nice of you."

"Stop thanking me. It's a very weird feeling, and you're getting fluff in my soup."

"Sorry."

"And stop apologizing."

"Sorry," Cameron said, smiling impishly at him.

House darted his eyes to the TV set, but decided against asking her if she wanted to watch the game. Instead, he grumbled something under his breath before looking back at her. "Well. You have no earrings or shoes for me to compliment this time. This is going to be fun."

"Sore throat," Cameron interrupted him, giving him an understanding look. "Hurts to talk. We don't have to."

House dropped his head, but when he looked up again she was watching him with a cautious air. Slowly, his lips curled into an honest – if small – smile. Her expression changed from hesitation to guarded optimism.

She kept her eyes on him until she could see it was making him uneasy. Looking away, Cameron kept her smile in check. She wasn't entire certain this wasn't a hallucination. There was no saying where this was heading, but she was curious to find out.

"Wait until you see what I brought for desert – if you're good, and finish up all your soup," he said, leaning forward and lifting his eyebrows suggestively. "And if you finish, and you're bad, I have something even better."

Cameron nearly choked on her soup as the laughter escaped. "Behave," she chided.

"Never in a million years."

"And I wouldn't have it any other way," she assured him.

**The End **


End file.
